


Don't It Make You Feel Bad

by roggietaylor



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Secret Relationship, chrissie and dom make appearances but neither are prominent, side freddie/roger? kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2020-10-27 09:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20758028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roggietaylor/pseuds/roggietaylor
Summary: Roger and Brian's friendship has always been close but how close can the two of them get before they have to admit it's not just a friendship anymore.





	1. 1971

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So I am posting this before the last chapter of my other fic! If anyone has noticed that don't worry, it's not delaying the last chapter of that the only thing delaying that is my own self and inability to edit! Please comment if you like <3

**1971**

“Well if you change your mind, darling, we’ll have it set aside just for you. It looks stunning!” called Freddie after another customer walked away empty handed.

“Stunning? You told me that coat looked ‘garish and tacky’ on me,” said Roger, leaned back in his chair, looking less like the owner of the stall and more like a drunk.

“It looked garish and tacky on her too, but it’s not en vogue to look horrible, I had to lie. Or would you rather I told her the truth that she was much to big to button the bloody thing up all the way? Yes that’s exactly what you would’ve wanted, me to tell that poor girl the awful truth that she can’t quite fit into the _Roger Taylor’s_ clothes and have her run off crying, warning all her mates to never set foot near this stall again! That’s what you would’ve wanted!” Freddie sat in the chair opposite Roger’s with a dramatic huff.

“The cold makes you so horrible,” grumbled Roger.

“It’s the cold and the hunger. I’m turning into a monster,” sighed Freddie.

Roger wrapped his own coat around himself a bit tighter. The stall could be great fun in the summer, but in the winter it really felt like the job that it was. The schmoozing of customers didn’t come as easily to them which means neither did any money. Of course a ‘real’ job as John and Brian so lovingly put it was not an option. Neither had the discipline to hold something they down they couldn’t care less about.

“Why don’t we close and go to lunch?”

“_Why don’t we close and go to lunch_,” mocked Freddie. “Yes, let’s close the shop and _buy_ lunch with all the _money_ we’ve made today from all the _clothes we sold_.”

“We don’t have to buy it, we can steal it. Like rats,” offered Roger.

“I’ve got the teeth for it,” said Freddie with a grin.

“Shut up or I’ll knock ‘em out.”

“Yes please—”

“I said shut it!” snapped Roger. He hated hearing Freddie poke fun at himself, only because he was one of the few people who knew how insecure he could be. But Freddie caught on to that long ago and started riling him up just for the show an angry Roger would put on. “We can pretend to be homeless and take a few of the stale loaves of bread?”

“That’s bad karma,” said Freddie, like it was obvious, “that’s like stealing from the poor.”

“We’re poor.”

“Yes but we’re rich poor. We have shelter just no food. Some poor sods have neither.”

“Well those poor sods get food. Why don’t we spend next months rent on a filled pantry and let the police take us away when we go delinquent on the bills?”

“Now you’re really thinking!” said Freddie, resting his chin on the table. Sitting outside was a good idea in theory. You could call out to the women and few men walking buy, practically stuff the clothes down their throats. But in practice, it was damn cold and Roger might’ve sold his entire wardrobe for a fifteen minute jaunt in a place with central heating. Or at very least a radiator.

“If I fall asleep in this chair, will I die?”

“Of what?” said Freddie.

“Of…coldness.”

“The biology major, once again, baffling me with his enormous brain,” said Freddie flatly.

“If I die of coldness, make Brian clean my room out, I want him to feel very badly that I died.”

“Why would cleaning your room out make him feel badly?”

“Cause it’s a mess, and it would take ages. And the whole time he’d be reminiscing about what a wonderful person I am and how he should’ve treated me better.”

“So I take it you’re still mad.”

“No no, I’ve totally moved on, I just want him filled with eternal guilt.”

Freddie let out the loudest laugh he could offer in his fatigued and freezing state. “Miss! Miss! You’re the perfect size for—”

“She’s gone—”

“I see she’s gone! It’s like they hear me speaking and they break into a sprint.”

“It’s winter, no one wants to try any of this shit on. I would murder someone if it meant I could keep this coat on indefinitely,” said Roger.

“Maybe you’re right…maybe closing shop is best.”

“Finally we can go home—”

“Promise you won’t let John or Brian buy us any groceries. They’re getting fed up with us I can tell. If we don’t tread lightly they’re bound to quit entirely.”

“Brian might even go solo and play _every instrument at once_ because drumming is _so easy_,” spat Roger, sinking further and further into his coat.

“He didn’t mean _easy_ he meant _easier._ And you know he’s right. It’s easier to learn—”

“Not you too!”

“Please just kiss and makeup. I can’t deal with the two of you feuding while I’m trying to have fun,” groaned Freddie.

“If he formally apologises with a notarised letter then I will consider being civil,” said Roger.

“That’s all I ask.”

Roger’s eyes threatened to close. He wanted to lean over and shake Freddie and warn him that he was about to die of hypothermia, but he was too worn out to move. They’d spent their days practicing until everyone’s hands, aside from Freddie’s, were bloody and useless. And for what, for university gigs and pubs. It was days like this, where Roger was freezing, hungry, and sure that his wallet and his bank account were entirely empty, that he wondered what it might be like to live on the fat salary of a doctor.

“Rog, you can’t be asleep at the booth,” said Freddie, sounding asleep himself.

“I’m resting my eyes,” grumbled Roger.

“Hallo, you two!” called a familiar voice from a ways off. Roger turned, but didn’t quite have the energy worked up to open his eyes.

“Afternoon, Brian,” replied Freddie.

“Hello, Mr. May,” spat Roger, his eyes still shut.

“Is…he alright?” said Brian to Freddie.

“He’s moping and trying to take a nap and running a shop all at once. All three tasks are going horrendously. What about you, how was your class?” said Freddie.

“Fine, just fine. I’ve got papers to grade and correct but that can wait until January.”

Roger opened his eyes just enough to see, not enough to fully make out the detail of his surroundings. “You can’t procrastinated on someone else’s homework, lazy arse.”

“I’m not,” said Brian. “The winter break began today.”

“Oh,” said Roger.

“You’re still mad.”

“What ever could I be mad about? I’m too stupid to learn a _proper_ instrument, I must be too stupid to feel anger.”

“Or maybe you’re so thick that’s all you _can_ feel,” said Brian.

“Oh, do shut up. It’s far, _far_ too cold for this!” interjected Freddie.

“I came by for a new _something_,” said Brian. “Whatever it may be. Chrissie commented last time we were out that she sees me in the same five outfits all the time.”

“Don’t expect anything to be discounted,” said Freddie, “we love you but we are incredibly, incredibly broke.”

“Yes, I know,” said Brian.

“Then come, sample our wares,” said Freddie, welcoming him into the stall with a dramatic wave.

“Just like that? No guidance?”

“Roger, dress him up, I did the last three.”

Roger sighed, a deep, rattling sigh and stood from his uncomfortable metal chair. “Hopefully my IQ isn’t so low I get lost in the fucking racks.”

“I hope so too,” said Brian.

“Keep it up and I’ll put you in a dress,” said Roger, trying not to let the smile tugging at his mouth spread. He threw anything he knew would fit Brian at him. No real care going into what he was throwing exactly and Brian did throw back a few items he thought were too much.

But eventually, in the relative warmth of the “inside” of their little stall softened Roger and he began handing Brian only clothes that suited him. More button downs and less cut up bits of edwardian dresses formed into vests.

“You think this looks normal?” said Brian, his cold hands shakily buttoning the shirt Roger threw at him. “Not too plain not too flashy just normal?”

“You look horrible in everything but this makes you look a bit less horrible.”

“Thank you, Rog.”

“Chrissie’ll love it.”

“Love it as in ‘want to borrow it’, or love it as in ‘want to get it off me’.” Brian peeled it off his arms and tossed it to Roger to turn rightside out once again.

“How should I know,” groaned Roger.

“Did you like me in it? Didn’t make me look too tall and lanky?” said Brian, letting one of his bigger insecurities show. Though Roger never understood it. His height, coming in at 5’9.25 exactly, made him constantly lie an inch or two taller. Roger would’ve killed for Brian’s height and yet he saw it as a curse to overcome.

“No you look good in it,” said Roger, not daring to poke any fun at what Brian was truly sensitive about.

“Then I’ll take it!” said Brian, a bit sarcastically. He pulled his shirt back on and hurried to button it.

“That’ll be two thousand pounds please.” Roger tossed him his jacket which he slid into as fast as he could.

“Would you take eighty thousand lira?”

“What’s that converted to pounds?”

“I think it’s almost three pounds,” said Brian, tugging his coat on and patting the pockets for his wallet.

“Sold! Although we don’t accept bills lower than a five pound note, and we don’t make change.”

“Five pounds a bit pricey for one _second-hand_ shirt don’t you think?” Brian rifled through his wallet while Roger looked over it like a hawk, trying to spot the largest bill Brian had on him.

“If five pounds is too pricey, you’re welcome to drop by BIBA and pay ten pounds for something common and boring. Or better yet, show up in your same old clothes so Chrissie leaves you for a man willing to put effort into his appearance. It’s your choice,” said Roger, eyeing the tenner he could see sticking out of Brian’s wallet.

“Fine,” Brian handed over a five pound note, “can we call it even now? I’m sick of your moaning and whinging.”

“I don’t moan, I’ve never once whinged about anything.” Roger held the bill up to the light, unsure of what exactly he was looking for but the goal of annoying Brian was reached. “Looks real to me…this time.”

‘So we’re even?” repeated Brian.

“Fine, we’re even.”

“Alright, I expect no more bitching about the drums discussion.”

“We ought to fight more often, Bri. I could make a killing off your guilt alone.” Roger clapped Brian’s back and hurried back to Freddie who had the cash box in his lap. His shivering hands took the note and locked it inside with the other few stray one and two pound coins.

“What’s the final verdict?” said Freddie, his teeth beginning to chatter. Roger flopped in the chair next to him and Brian hurried over to show off his new purchase. “Oh…damn I quite liked that one.”

“Fred, focus on the money we have,” said Roger.

“Just promise me you’ll bring it back if she hates it,” said Freddie, eyeing the garment with longing eyes as Brian stuffed it into his bag. “Tell Chrissie we say hello.”

“That makes us sound like a couple,” said Roger.

Freddie reached across and took Roger’s hand. “Tell Chrissie your good friends Fred and Rog say hello, and to drop by our shared flat anytime—“

Freddie was cut off by Roger shaking his hand free and his own laughter. Brian rolled his eyes through a grin and waved a goodbye as he continued up the street. Roger watched him go. It felt stupid to say but Brian felt like he was on a separate plane from the two of them. He was a teacher, with a proper girlfriend. He played guitar on weekends and sometimes Friday nights but otherwise he was buttoned down and quaint in a way. It made him wonder how long they’d be this way, how long they’d be this close.

“Why so pensive,” said Freddie, his voice sounding more distant than it was.

“I’m just cold,” sighed Roger.

“I’m past cold, I’m fucking freezing, we got a fiver lets go the fuck home,” said Freddie.

“Thank fucking God,” replied Roger.

The two of them packed up quickly and hastily. Both muttering about what they should get for dinner on their way home. Freddie suggested lobster but Roger wouldn’t budge on the beef wellington so they compromised and bought a pound of rice and a dozen eggs.

~~~

Their shared flat was small but it was cosy, homey even. There were cracks in the floorboards, patches in the wallpaper, faulty wiring, and drafts in nearly every room but it was their's. And the sunken couch in their living room was their's, and the grainy tv set that sat across from them was their's. They had no room to accommodate a dining chair much less an entire table so their dinner was served in their lap while they watched nothing in particular.

“Maybe we could start having sex for money?” said Freddie, absently staring at the silent television.

“We could,” said Roger with a shrug. “We do it for free enough, only seems fair.”

“You already have the van you’re constantly fucking in, that could be like your…boudoir or whatever it’s called.”

Roger shifted the rice under his fork. Rice and eggs were cheap and most important filling but damn were they boring. No matter what spices Freddie shoveled onto them Roger was still painfully aware he was eating the food equivalent of beige.

“How much is it? Like per fuck?” said Roger.

“Fifty quid?”

“That seems low.”

“I thought it seemed high.”

“I’ve been givin’ it away free, how’m I going to get any paying customers?”

“Men,” said Freddie, matter-of-factly.

“Men?”

“You ever seen a woman looking for a whore, Rog? No, you’ve got to learn to suck people off.”

“Oh,” Roger sighed deep and shaky, “then maybe not.”

“I’d still do it,” said Freddie.

“I know,” said Roger.

“I didn’t mean it that way, just as…I would do it for the money,” said Freddie.

“Fred…I’ve known you a while now,” said Roger. And that was really all he needed to say.

“I guess you have,” said Freddie, his voice quiet, his tone resigned.

“It’s not a big deal,” said Roger, knowing it was. “Won’t say anythin’ either.”

“Thanks, Rog…” said Freddie, eyes still locked on the silent television.

“No need,” said Roger. “If I eat tomorrow ration of rice…and then just don’t eat tomorrow—”

“That never works, Rog, you always eat three days ration and then wonder why you’re hungry. Just visualise your stomach being full.”

Roger sank further into the couch. “I’m so sick of being poor.”

“Think we ought to stop?” offered Freddie.

“I think so, I reckon it’s time.” Roger rubbed his tired eyes.

“Moping won’t help a damn thing. Either learn to give a decent blowjob and make us some money or be grateful for what we’ve got,” said Freddie, a crack in his voice giving away the laugh he was trying to suppress. Roger lazily swatted his leg in protest and stared at the staticky picture on their set, both far too apathetic to get up and adjust the antenna.

“You think Brian had fun with Chrissie,” said Roger, before he’d really thought about what he was asking.

“I should think so,” said Freddie with a shrug. “That’s his girlfriend, if he didn’t have fun that’s an issue. Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” said Roger, finding it odd that that was a lie. “I’m just bored.”

“You must be bored if you’re thinking about Brian’s date.”

“Why don’t we go out, Fred? Go drinking or something,” sighed Roger.

“Alright, but you’ve got to commit to the lie if you’re going to let men buy you drinks. They can’t know they’ve got no chance.”

“Force of habit,” said Roger, downing the rest of his dinner and hurrying to get his coat.

~~~

Roger and Freddie were both tremendous flirts and both had a certain air about them that made it easy to bum free drinks off men at some of the bars by their flat. Freddie’s air was simply that he was up for it, Roger’s air was mostly certainly his eyes and his soft face. Embarrassing at times, unappealing at others, but he couldn’t care less how he looked so long as it got him a free pint or two.

He and Freddie got caught with two free drinks trying to play darts for a bit of extra cash. Freddie was better typically but he was also a lightweight so Roger doubled the six pounds in his wallet and Freddie earned an extra four quid on a few bets they made.

“With this kind of scratch we’ll be millionaires by the weeks end!” giggled Freddie, the second pint starting to get to him.

“By the end of the _night_ you mean,” corrected Roger.

The pub’s bell rang and most instinctively looked to the door. A tall stick covered in a mop of curls came through.

“What’s Brian doin’ ‘ere,” said Freddie. “He should be home, making Chrissie forget her own name.”

“Please, he could well’ve done that already, there’s no way he can last more than ten minutes,” said Roger. But Freddie hadn’t heard him, he was too busy making eyes at the men buying them drinks. The way Freddie threw himself at them was almost impressive and had Roger hoping for another free round. But with Freddie otherwise distracted, it was his job to talk to Brian.

He sidled through the crowds of much larger men to get to Brian who was sat at the bar.

“This seat taken?” croaked Roger as he hoped onto the barstool.

“What’re you doin’ here?” said Brian over the din as the bartender handed him the pint he ordered.

“Freddie and I came for a drink, nothin’ better to do,” said Roger. “He’s over there somewhere, trying to milk the men for drinks.”

Brian replied with a weak shrug and half hearted laugh. He gulped his pint down in no more than three swigs. Roger eyed him, eyed the shirt he was wearing and realised it wasn’t the one he’d bought off them earlier.

“I thought you were getting more fashion forward, for Chrissie’s sake anyway.” Roger tugged at the cuff of Brian’s sleeve.

“Yes well,” mumbled Brian.

He stared straight ahead into the visual dissonance of the bottles behind the bar, his brow furrowed, his face pensive, and his lips pressed tightly together. All that detail was hard to notice in the loud, boisterous air of the pub.

“I want a fag,” said Roger, rummaging through his pockets to find his carton, “you up for one?”

“I don’t smoke,” said Brian.

“Are you up for watching me smoke then?” offered Roger one more time.

Brian thought for a brief moment before nodding. Roger led them through the crowds out to the freezing winter air, checking over his shoulder once or twice to make sure Brian was still trailing behind. The wind smacked against the pub door and guided them down the alley to the left of the little pub. They hurried to shelter from the icy wind and Roger was eager to get his lighter lit. Brian huddled just a bit closer as Roger held the flame to the cigarette between his lips and breathed in deeply.

“Give it up for no other reason that not having to freeze your bollocks off,” snapped Brian.

“Birth control,” said Roger, with a grin that Brian had to fight no to reciprocate. “Why’re you so down, Bri? Did something happen with Chrissie?”

“No, nothing.”

“Something.” Roger leant back against the cold stone of the pub and reached a foot out to tap on Brian’s boot.

Brian looked at him, a bit hesitant, and stuffed his hands a bit deeper in his pockets. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you wear the shirt you bought?”

Brian shrugged. “Didn’t want to.”

“You wanted to when you bought it didn’t you?” said Roger, an involuntary laugh following his words.

“I did. I don’t know. Sometimes…with her…” Brian’s voice trailed off.

“She’s good to you,” said Roger as he took a deep drag off his cigarette. “She is good to you.”

“Yes,” Brian sounded resigned more than anything else.

“You think she’s good for you?”

“I don’t know if I’m good for her,” said Brian. “Don’t know if I’m what she wants.”

“Shouldn’t she decide that?”

Brian took a step closer to Roger as the cold began to get to them both, Roger took a step closer too.

“Do you ever feel like you’re living someone else’s life?” Brian plucked the cigarette from Roger’s lips. “Like everything in your life is perfect for someone else.” He took a long drag off the cigarette that he held so unnaturally between two fingers. He coughed and sputtered horribly on the breath out and Roger kept a hand on his back waiting for his lungs to calm down.

“Alright, Bri?” said Roger to Brian’s bent over form.

“Just fine.” Without thinking, Brian dropped the cigarette into the sleet and slush surrounding their feet, wasting most of it.

“What were you saying about—” began Roger. Brian just waved his hand, dismissing the thought while he coughed and wheezed a bit more. Once he finally had enough he stood up straight and wiped his watery eyes. The cold made it all worse, the coughing, the tearing up, the emotions. It amplified it all.

Brian rested an arm on Roger’s shoulder and straightened up and out. Roger reached out for him but his hands fell just short of touching him and helping him regain his composure. On arm ghosted over the small of his back while the other awkwardly hovered in the space between them.

“Sorry,” said Brian, his voice a little hoarse. “Don’t know what I thought I was doing.”

“’S alright,” said Roger, finally daring to rest a hand just above Brian’s hip.

“What’s that?” said Brian, his voice low, just audible over the howling wind, his eyes staring deep into Roger.

“What’s what?” replied Roger, his eyes locked on Brian’s.

“Your hand, Rog?” said Brian, a grin creeping across his face. “You makin’ a move on me, Taylor?”

“And what if I was, May?” said Roger, his voice more confident than he was.

“Are you?” Brian’s voice lost any of it’s conviction, and his face dropped any cockiness it once held.

“Lean down,” said Roger, quietly, just loud enough for Brian to hear. “I can’t quite reach.”

Brian, wordlessly, did as he was asked, and leant down just enough for Roger to press their lips together. It began as that, as a shy brush of their lips with the faintest hint of suction. They broke away, only by a few centimeters, and Roger tried again, relaxing more and hoping Brian did the same. And again.

And then Brian stood up straight. “We’re drunk,” he murmured, cheeks bright pink.

“We must be,” said Roger with a cough. Brian’s hands awkwardly left Roger’s shoulder and hip, Roger did the same.

From there Brian shivered in an exaggerated way and muttered something about going home. Roger just nodded and avoided his gaze before watching him meandered out of the alley and into the wind.


	2. 1973

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I had a mini trip and had no time to write. Also this chapter's a bit shorter than the last because the next chapter's a bit longer so hopefully that makes up for it? I've read your comments they're so lovely, so complimentary, so much so in fact I'm really hoping this chapter lives up to everyones expectations ahaha!! please comment, or comment again, if you like this chapter as well! Hope you enjoy! <33333

**1973**

Roger stared into the trolley full of booze absently. Part of him wanted to down it all with Freddie more than share it amongst their friends for the Christmas party. It just seemed a damn waste to have to split it between more than two. At most he was willing to share with Brian and John.

“Mary said she could bring some real food, imagine that,” laughed Freddie with a smile that covered his teeth.

“Yes, imagine Mary being able to cook something,” spat Roger. He threw a bag of rice on top of their liquor.

“Are you jealous, Rog, because you know I love you both equally,” teased Freddie. “I think we just need olives then, we can leave.”

“Earlier you said Mary might not come,” said Roger, hoping the desperation didn’t come through in his voice.

“Yes, but Brian is sure Chrissie can come so Mary’s definitely coming.”

“Oh, she’s coming too?”

“And Veronica,” added Freddie as he set a jar of olives in the trolley. “Did Jo say she could come in the end, I’d hate for you to be the only one without your girlfriend.”

“No she’s already on the road up to her parents’,” said Roger. Freddie looked at him pitiful eyes, Roger couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t mind, I’ve seen her plenty. Her family is very tightly knit, I’d be an idiot if I were surprised she went home for the holidays.”

“I’m just surprised she didn’t take you with,” said Freddie, a tinge of sadness in his voice. The thought had, admittedly, crossed Roger’s mind as well. It was probably more normal for him to accompany her up to the country for Christmas, at least for awhile, but he had no desire to do so and she had no desire to ask him.

“Mary’s had another idea for the band,” said Freddie, loading the liquor up onto the counter to be rung up while Roger just watched.

“Of course she has,” muttered Roger, not bothering to disguise his tone. Though Freddie ignored it all the same as he relayed Mary’s opinion to Roger. It wasn’t that he hated Mary, at least not entirely that he hated her. It was what she did to Freddie. A few weeks into it, Roger hadn’t minded, a few months in, he was still fine, but years now it’d been. Roger wanted to shake Freddie, wanted to wake him the fuck up. But he couldn’t, or more so he wouldn’t. Freddie would take it all at his own pace and if that pace included Mary, Roger just had to keep his mouth shut.

~~~

Without Jo, the party seemed pointless. Jo wasn’t much of a party girl but she was interesting, she was entertaining, and she was a goal to be achieved each night. No one else at their get together could end his night quite the way Jo could. So the conversation felt pointless almost. Like he was the odd man out for the night, a feeling he’d never quite grown accustomed to.

“Freddie wants to tour, I know he does,” said John in Roger’s ear as he glared at Freddie.

“As if you wouldn’t want to tour,” said Roger with a scoff.

“Going on vacation, seeing new places, _that_ would be fun. Trying to stuff forty cities into forty days? And each night we’re playing the same setlist over and over? That’s sounds like a biblical punishment,” sighed John.

“Who said we’d be doing forty shows you drama queen.” Roger patted his pockets for his cigarettes. “We don’t want to stand still. Touring’s the next step. You can’t live behind the glass your whole life, Deaks.”

“Says you,” said John, mostly into his drink.

“Says me,” replied Roger. “And when have I ever been wrong?”

Brian sat just to the left of Roger’s line of sight. Chrissie in his lap, Mary and Freddie talking to them both. Roger eyes unfocused as his gaze drifted and watched the blurry visions of the four of them talking so domestically across the room. Roger couldn’t help but sneer at the facade of the four of them, locked in strange and unbalanced relationships pretending to be the pinnacle of normality.

“Fuck are you looking at ‘em like that for?” said John with one of his easy smiles. Roger blinked away the haze he’s been staring at the four of them through.

“I was miles away,” said Roger.

“Miles away thinkin’ of what then?” John reached in Roger’s jacket pocket for his carton of cigarettes. “American women and the sunset strip?”

“Something like that,” replied Roger. His eyes drifted back to the two pairs of them. He knew John noticed but hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t pointed it out, just took a long slow drag off his cigarette.

“You don’t have to like her but you do have to play nice,” said John. “For Freddie.”

“I do like her,” said Roger, his voice struggling around those words. “I do.”

“Very convincing,” laughed John.

“Oh and you love her?” Roger lit the cigarette between his lips.

“I never said that.” John watched Roger struggle with his empty lighter before handing him his own.

“I don’t know about you but I think the tour will be good for him. For all of us,” said Roger, finally taking a drag off his own cigarette.

“I’m still against it. Seems like such a hassle.”

“For a young man you’re so old,” teased Roger, prodding John’s ribs with his elbow. John fought a smirk and rolled his eyes. And then Veronica waved him over from across the room. And Roger was alone again. He’d never been a shrinking violet, and he wasn’t one now, but without Jo to talk to he was uninterested, bored even. So he topped his drink up as covertly as he could and crept down the hall to his bedroom. He rummaged through his side table draw for one of the joints he knew he’d left in there and opened the window.

Roger chucked his cigarette into the street below and lit the joint after a few tries with his nearly-dead lighter. The air brought a horrible chill into the room but it was better than having anyone on the other side of the door smelling what he wasn’t intending on sharing. He sat in the window sill and blew directly out into the frigid air.

It wasn’t as strong as he remembered, and it wasn’t as good. But it was something to do. The thoughts of sunny California kept him warm. They had no tour set up, no dates, not plans, but the idea was enough to keep the cold at bay. The idea of going out and finding the sun was almost as enticing as the idea of finding fame.

His quiet, calm, but somewhat rambling thoughts were interrupted by his bedroom door opening and closing. He turned from his sill to see Brian.

“What’re you doing?” said the two in unison.

“This is my room,” replied Roger.

“This is your party,” replied Brian. “Forgot about the guests?”

“Got bored of ‘em. What about you? Aren’t you having fun?”

Brian, a bit wobbly from the drinking, took a step to Roger’s bed and fell back onto it. He shimmied up and pressed back against the wall to get comfortable, his long legs still able to reach the ground from there. “Just got bored I suppose.”

“Great minds,” muttered Roger. Despite his better judgement he held the joint out to Brian.

“No thanks.”

“_No thanks?_ Are you a guitarist or not?” laughed Roger.

“I always cough so much,” said Brian, his voice a bit smaller.

“Don’t take such a deep drag,” replied Roger. Brian just rolled his eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

“Alright alright,” groaned Brian. He leant forward to take the joint out of Roger’s hand and sat back against the wall before taking a drag off it. Watching Brian burn away some of the small amount of weed he could afford made him wonder why he offered in the first place.

As promised, Brian went into a coughing fit on the breath out. Roger lurched forward from his spot on the window sill to snatch the joint away from him before he dropped it.

“Get it together,” said Roger through a laugh before taking another drag for himself. Brian could only cough in response. While Roger waited for him to recover, he sat up against the wall on the bed, a few inches from Brian. He sat calmly, and still, waiting for Brian’s coughing to subside. And when it finally did, and Brian had wiped the tears from his eyes, Roger muttered, “still just as bad as the last time, huh?”

“My lungs prefer air, what can I say?” Brian’s voice was scratchy still, and weak.

“You can’t be a rock and roller if all you’re breathing is air.” Roger rested his head against the wall and watched Brian gather himself enough to do the same, and to meet his gaze. The smoking, the drinking, it was all getting to them, and neither felt the need to do more than smile at each other. At least for awhile, until Roger couldn’t help himself. “How’s Chrissie?”

“She’s fine,” said Brian, his voice almost a whisper.

“You mean that?” said Roger. “You’re happy with her?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Brian’s eyes closed for just a moment.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you happy with Jo?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Brian gestured lazily to nothing in particular, “well there you go. We’re happy.”

“I suppose we are.”

“You think Fred and John are happy?” Brian leant forward, just enough for Roger to notice.

“I think John’s happy.”

“I think John’s happy too.” Brian put a hand between his and Roger’s thighs, pressing his palm to his own thigh and his knuckles to Roger’s. “Freddie’s really that way isn’t he?”

“I think so, yeah,” Roger reached down to trace his finger tips over Brian’s hand.

“I wish he’d just admit it, he’s doing neither of them any good.”

“It’s hard, Brian,” said Roger in as harsh a tone as his whisper would allow. “A lot changes if he admits what he wants. A lot’s at stake you know?”

“Doesn’t it make him a coward? To live a lie like that?”

Roger’s eyes had glazed over just a bit but he was still locked in Brian’s gaze, and he couldn’t help but wonder. “Are you going to kiss me, Bri?”

Brian was silent for a moment. “What if I was?”

“I don’t know.” Roger, slipped his hand across Brian’s thigh. “Find out.”

There was no hesitation. He threw himself at Roger, and Roger caught him. Drunk, a little high, a little tired, it only helped elevate the intensity. Roger raked a hand through Brian’s tangled curls and Brian nearly bruised Roger’s hip with his grip. Both agreed to ignore the awkward angle, and their difficulty working around the wall pressed to their backs. They were more focused on the initial slide of Roger’s tongue against Brian’s that sent shudders through them both.

“Oh God, Rog,” muttered Brian against Roger’s cheek as his hands worked to unbutton his shirt, too drunk to succeed past one button.

“Bri,” sighed Roger, helplessly tugging Brian’s shirt from his waistband with what little strength he had left after all of the Southern Comfort and weed. Roger met their lips again and attacked him with the intensity he was known for. Brian’s confident touch grew pliant, submissive even as Roger showed him exactly what he’d been missing out on, exactly what all his tongue could really do. He tried to sober up just enough to full remember how Brian’s tongue moved, how his hands moved, how he tasted, how he smelled, all of it before it was over, before they began pretending it never happened.

“He went into Roger’s room,” screamed Freddie somewhere in the drunken din of the party. Before either had much time to register the words, Roger’s door flew open and the two of them jumped up and away from each other. Lips swollen, hair mussed, cheeks red with drunkenness and embarrassment, but there was space between them.

“Brian,” said Chrissie with a grin, “where’ve you been.”

“Chatting with Rog,” said Brian, awkwardly gesturing to Roger.

“You boys, always working.” She drummed her finger tips against Roger’s door for a moment, eyeing Brian’s hair, the way his shirt was untucked, the extra colour in his lips. “We ought to go, I’m not feeling so well anymore.”

“Fine by me,” said Brian, hurrying her out of the room and not once looking in Roger’s direction as he shuffled out. Roger called a goodbye after them but got nothing in return. He stared at his slightly ajar door for a few beats before finding the joint and resuming his place at the window sill and taking a long, shaking drag.


	3. 1974

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! So not much to say but here's the next chapter, the fourth coming soon, I hope you enjoy and if you do please comment ! :)

** 1974  **

Coming off the stage, sweating buckets, panting, eyes wide and ears ringing, Roger’d never felt more alive. The UK shows were amazing, they were all he could’ve dreamt of. But their first American show meant so much more. For their career, for their reach, for their lives. Sure, they were still just an opening act, in the midwest as well, but it was something. Not the sunset strip Roger had in mind but not the cold basement of a London pub either.

Someone backstage handed Roger a towel on their journey back to the dressing room. Roger, the only one doing real work, was a mess at the end of each show. Freddie often said they ought just hose him down each night before heading out. Roger couldn’t say he would be adverse to that.

Freddie, like a mother hen almost, ushered them all into their dressing room and thanked everyone else to stay out. He shut the door behind them and turned to the three of them with a big toothy grin. “We’ve done it, we’ve played America!”

The residual adrenaline rushed through them all when Freddie wrapped his flimsy arms around them all. The bouncing in eachothers arms lasted for longer than they’d ever admit to anyone outside the room. They were filled with the giddiness of school girls not the sexy bravado of the rock stars they were becoming.

Roger watched as the other three set about wiping their makeup off. Or wiping away what they hadn’t sweated off already. The dull thud of the drums and bass came through the walls as Mott performed. “See if I wore makeup it’d be gone after the first few songs. It’d get in my eyes too. You’d blind me—”

“Oh stop making excuses,” said Freddie to Roger, eyeing him through the mirror. “You won’t do it because you’re afraid you’ll look even more like a girl.”

“Am not,” said Roger halfheartedly, knowing it was true.

“You’d make a very pretty girl, Rog,” said Brian as he focused very hard on getting the eyeliner off his lower lashes.

“Thank you?” said Roger. “Is that a dig or a compliment?”

“It’s just a statement, take it how you will.”

“Where are we headed after this?” asked John. Touring got to his head after the first week and suddenly he was ready to be at every club, dancing to every song, drinking every drink, and chatting up every girl until one went home with him. Roger couldn’t say it didn’t bother him knowing John had a wife. But who was he to throw stones? He’d caught his fair share of women and none of them were Jo.

“We shouldn’t go out!” said Freddie with a tone of finality. “We’ve only _just_ arrived in America. If we don’t get good rest we’ll get sick. And if we get sick we can’t play. And if we can’t play our careers with nosedive. Do you hear me! _Nosedive_!”

“Yes, that all follows,” said Roger, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

“I mean it!” Freddie turned from the mirror to face them all. “We’ve just got here. We can’t afford to fuck it up with a cold or the flu—”

“The flu? It’s fucking April, Fred—” began Roger, trying not to scoff.

“You know what I mean,” groaned Freddie. “We can all stand to have_ one_ solitary night. Call your girlfriend or wives if you’re so inclined, tell them you’re going to bed early and for once it’ll be the truth.”

A heavy silence followed Freddie’s words. The occasionally dosed each other with guilt about their collective infidelities and it always ended in silence followed by pretending no one had said a word, pretending no women were at home waiting for them.

“Fuck that,” said John after a few long beats of quiet. “I’m in America, I want an American woman.”

“You’ll never find one with eyeliner like that, faggot,” said Freddie before leaning forward to help him wipe it off. Brian burst out laughing with Roger while John had to force it down to avoid Freddie poking his eye out.

But John won out. Freddie decided meeting a few women wouldn’t be so bad as long as they didn’t go to any clubs or do any heavy drinking. Not on their first night touring a new continent. It was to be a tame night, as tame as they could make it.

Freddie broke off the earliest to go have a chat with one of their fans he refused to let them meet. It was no secret where he was off to but none of them worried about making him admit it. Instead they headed to the bar near the venue, the only thing that wasn’t farmland for miles and miles. A few girls followed, though Roger wasn’t particularly taken with any of them, it seemed Brian wasn’t either. But John split from them with a brunette trailing behind them before they ever made it to the bar. The two of the walked in and turned a few heads but ignored them all in favour of ordering two pints and sitting down.

Roger, sat at the barstools with Brian, eyeing the few fans that followed them in, felt out of place. The midwest had a strange assortment of people that Roger could only describe as homogenous and rigid. On the surface at least. Sitting there with Brian and his residual eyeliner, and his own glittery shoes and long hair, he didn’t feel much like a famous rock star, more like a sideshow.

“You know I heard you slip,” said Brian, as the bartended slid him his pint.

“I didn’t slip—”

“Yes you did, I heard it.” Brian smirked into his pint.

“Oh fuck off—”

“You said I never pay attention to the drumming. Well I do. And I heard you fuck it up.”

Roger rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smile at that. He ran his fingertips over the beads of condensation on the wood of the bar and watched Brian take another sip. “Who’re you taking home?”

“I don’t know yet, the short one maybe,” said Brian.

“You ever fucked an American?” said Roger, patting his pockets for a cigarette. He found his carton and slipped one between his lip before he started his search for his lighter. Brian pulled the unlit cigarette from his lips. He rolled it between his fingers, tearing it apart. “What the fuck—”

“It’s bad for you,” said Brian as calm as ever. Roger could only roll his eyes and hope that the blushing in his cheeks wasn’t terribly noticeable. “And no, I’ve only fucked Brits.”

“And not all that many,” said Roger with a smirk.

“Fuck off,” said Brian with a grin.

A silence set in as they finished off their pints, slower than they ever had before, making every drop last until their glasses were empty and it was time to head home with whoever would go with them. Roger muttered some sort of half-formed goodbye as he stood from his stool, ready to go grab the blonde he’d been eyeing.

“Hey,” said Brian, a little louder than necessary to stop Roger in his tracks.

“Hey what?”

“I like this, I like being in the band. With you,” said Brian.

Roger wanted to agree, and expand, wanted to get another pint and spend the night reminiscing about their humble beginnings, though they weren’t exactly Rockefellers yet. Wanted to be close, wanted to stay close, wanted to see what the American air would let them do. Wanted to ask if Brian thought about that night, or even the one before it. But instead he stumbled of the beginnings of a few words before laughing at his own failed attempts and muttering, “I think the lager’s getting to you, mate.”

“Ah,” said Brian, the noise catching in his throat, “maybe. G’night Rog, have fun.”

“You too, Bri.”

He shuffled once, twice, before finally leaving Brian’s side and heading for the girl he’d had on hold. She was short, only about five foot three, and she had thick bleached hair that Roger swore he could still smell the ammonia on. But she was thin and she was willing.

~~~

Her name had two ‘Y’s in it, she said. And her father worked in finance she said. And she wanted to be a model she said. But none of that mattered, it was all uncomfortable small talk while waiting for the main event. He helped her rip her skimpy shorts off along with her horrendous fringed boots, snorted what she gave him, and bent her half, hardly bothering to shed her tied and buttoned top. He just wanted to get off and she was fine being his toy for the night.

He came across her tanned stomach and fell to her side. She caught her breath and gave him mumbled words of praise. He didn’t remembered making her come but by the sound of it he had. He mumbled half-hearted ‘you too’s in response before saying he was getting in the shower, and that by the time he got out she ought be headed home. She was drunk enough or giddy enough not to mind Roger’s milquetoast attempt at forcing her out before dawn. He kissed her goodbye and helped her gather her things. With the door shut and locked, the room empty, he soaked in the weak spray of the piping hot shower and remembered the only thing he had left to do.

The hotel provided towels the size of Roger’s hand and that was about it. His clothes stuck to his damp skin and the humid air of the motel only amplified the claustrophobic tightening of the undershirt and boxers he threw on. While tugging his collar and ripping the fabric from his chest, he dialed home and sat patiently listening to the dial tone.

“Hello?” said Jo.

“Hi darling,” said Roger, his voice sounded hoarse from what he hoped was the show but from what he knew was the coke and the girl.

“How’s the midwest? Are people quite as big as they keep saying?” said Jo with a giggle.

“They’re rounder, sure. The only thing for miles is farmland, what’s there to do but eat,” said Roger. “Wish I’d had that problem all that time eating on a weekly basis with Fred.”

“I can’t imagine you’d gain weight either way, you’re so scrawny.”

“I’m not scrawn—” began Roger with fake indignation.

“You’re not scrawny, you’re very strong and robust. You’re my protector, I know,” said Jo with a hint of sarcasm. Roger could hear the grin on her face, and mirrored it.

“I’m known for my strength and machismo.”

“Yes you are.” Jo paused and filled the silence with a long drawn out sigh. “I miss you, Rog.”

“I miss you too.” Roger wrapped and unwrapped his wrist in the coils of the phone cord. “I think about you ever second I’m out here.”

“Every second?” said Jo, her voice beginning to crack.

Roger sat up and leaned in, as if Jo could see his attentiveness over the phone all the way back in London. “Every second. I love you.”

“Just…don’t fall for any Americans while you’re out there.”

“How could I fall for another when I have you,” said Roger, hoping his tone would really sell it.

“Of course,” said Jo, her voice weaker now. “Well it’s late there, it’s even later here. I should go.”

“Sorry to call so late, the show just didn’t want to end,” said Roger.

“Uh huh,” said Jo. “Well, goodnight, Rog. I love you.”

“I love you too, Jo.” As soon as the words had left his lips, she’d slammed down the receiver on her end.

With the way she so clearly saw through him, Roger wondered if she was spying on him. How else could she always know when he’d gone of course. A sixth sense or a wire were the only explanations Roger had ever come up with. He hung the phone up and took a long shaky breath in and out, trying to get Jo’s hurt and teary voice out of his head. When he couldn’t, he went for ice. Didn’t need it, didn’t want it but it was a distraction from the guilt and the shame.

As he wondered down the hall he thought about knocking on one of their doors. For a quick game of something, anything, before he was left alone to think about what he’d done like a naughty schoolboy. But he didn’t want them, all in the same boat, to feel as bad as he did in that moment. He wanted them to continue riding the high even if he couldn’t.

He fumbled with his keys at the door long enough for a door down the hall to fly open. A half clothed girl came out, crying and muttering something under her breath. Roger said a small, quiet ‘hello’ as she passed, but she clearly didn’t want to be comforted, she wanted to leave. Roger watched her go and looked up the hallway at the door she came out of. He couldn’t be sure, couldn’t really remember, but he had a feeling it was Brian’s. That was more entertaining that wallowing in guilt. He left the ice bucket by his door and knocked on Brian’s.

“Oh! Oh!” said Brian from somewhere in his room. “Suddenly, it’s not a problem?!” shouted Brian as he heaved the door open. “Oh. Rog.”

“You sound surprised. Weren’t you expecting me?” Roger smirked and Brian rolled his eyes. “Go on, tell us about the crying girl, I already saw her.”

“She started crying again?” groaned Brian. “I can’t believe she’s making this big of a fucking deal.”

“About what! I’m dying to know.” Brian led Roger in and Roger let the door close behind them. “Was your cock too small, so small she just started weeping?”

“My cock’s bigger than yours,” said Brian off hand. “But we didn’t even get that far because I had to call Chrissie.”

“You…called Chrissie with another girl in the room?” Suddenly Roger’s transgressions didn’t sound so bad. It wasn’t much of a moral high ground but if he was a hair’s width better than Brian he’d take it.

“While she was in the bathroom, yes.” Brian sat on his creaky bad and laid back with a huff. “She caught me saying my goodnights and just threw a fit.”

“Brian,” Roger sat next to him on the bed and patted his knee, “you can’t really be surprised she stormed out.”

“Don’t you think I know that.”

Roger looked back at Brian, his hands crossed on his face, his breathing was deep and pensive. Brian wasn’t one to admit being wrong often, likely because he wasn’t often wrong, but the kind of self-flagellation Brian would put himself through over the course of the night was far worse than any guilt Roger could inflict.

“As long as Chrissie didn’t catch on.”

“I can never tell with her.” Brian sighed deep and uneven. “Sometimes I’m sure she knows, others I doubt she’d figure it out if I told her straight on.”

“You know you could always…split with her if—”

“Split with Jo if you’re such a faithful saint,” spat Brian.

Roger took that one, he knew he deserved it. Roger looked back for another look at Brian, then forward at the hotel wall as his thoughts turned stale, he could see the wallpaper beginning to rip. “If it make you feel better, Jo sounded like she knew. When I called her.”

Brian reached forward from his supine position on the bed and uselessly patted the center of Roger’s back. “I suppose misery loves company, though can’t say I’m glad she’s upset.”

“At least I got off,” teased Roger. “A few times.”

“Oh fuck off.” Brian thumped his back before sitting up with a drawn out sigh. His eyes still red from how hard he’d been rubbing them. “Maybe there’s still girls back at the concert hall.”

Roger scoffed. “Yeah, the forty five minute drive will be well worth it.”

“Maybe there’s another bar around,” said Brian though he never shifted from his spot, pressed against Roger on the creaky mattress.

“You could. You could go out to a bar,” said Roger. His throat tightened as he gracelessly moved one hand from his own lap and let it rest on Brian’s thigh. “Or.”

“Are you serious?” said Brian. Roger turned to meet his eyes and realised they were sat closer than he’d thought. Brian’s poor face was painted bright red with tones of anxiety and fear, even helplessness.

“If you want me to be,” said Roger, his voice low and husky. Brian said nothing just stared back at Roger with eyes wide as saucers. No words came to Roger either, so he went with what felt right. He ghosted his lips against Brian’s. He wanted to kiss him. Again. But he hesitated wondering just how reciprocal that feeling was. And in that moment of hesitation, Brian pressed their lips together, roughly, desperately, and reached out to grab Roger anywhere he could.

Roger wanted to sit and linger and memorise how Brian’s hands felt running up his spine and down his chest, but a much bigger part of him was eager and desperate to unbutton his trousers. The fabric was tight and getting tighter by the second, the unzipped zipper was a great relief to them both.

“Here,” said Brian, pausing for just a moment to shimmy his trousers down his thighs. “Okay, go.”

“Okay go?” said Roger with a smirk. “How sexy.”

“Okay, _please_ go. Better?” said Brian. His shaky voice gave away that no matter how light he sounded, his heart was racing.

“Better,” said Roger, his voice quiet, and hopefully soothing. He kissed him rough but slow, and wrapped his left arm tight around his waist while his right freed his cock from his pants. Roger kept him locked in a kiss as he shoved the waistband of his pants low enough not to interfere, not wanting anything even slightly awkward getting Brian more in his own head about it.

Brian was bigger than him, he felt bigger. His cock was heavy and hot against his palm and around his fingers. Roger stroked him, once, twice, and broke from Brian’s lips. Brian took a few choked breaths in as Roger continued. He avoided Roger’s gaze and instead took to watching Roger’s hand move up and down him through mostly lidded eyes and a clenched jaw.

Roger watched him intently, watching his expression change in minuscule ways when he moved his hand slower, faster, firmer, trying to figure out exactly what it was that Brian wanted from him. Eventually he found the sweet spot when Brian moaned a quiet ‘fuck’ and his breath hitched.

“You like that?” said Roger under his breath.

“Yes, fuck, yes, Rog,” sputtered Brian. Brian turned to meet his gaze, finally. His pupils were blown wide and his expression looked so lost, so ready to finish, so desperate for the orgasm Roger was promising him. Roger leaned forward to capture his lips once more, but broke away quick. He wanted to hear Brian trying to level his breathing, try to disguise the soft whines and grunts escaping him.

“Tell me when you’re close,” said Roger right in his ear.

“Now, Rog, I’m close now,” replied Brian.

“I want it in my mouth, Bri,” said Roger. His voice sounded more confident than he did.

“Oh god, oh god,” stammered Brian. Roger knew his cue and hurried to bend down and wrap his lips around Brian’s cock head. His tongue swirled around the sensitive skin there while his hand continued stroking and before Roger could even really taste his cock, his mouth was pumped full. Brian’s hips bucked and surprised Roger with an extra inch he hadn’t been expecting but he maintained his composure as he slowly sucked and stroked him through it. Roger swallowed with his lips still around Brian who shuddered and whine when he felt that last bit of suction.

“Fuck fuck,” said Brian with a laugh almost, “stop stop. It’s…”

He sat up slowly, wiping his mouth with his clean hand as he did. Brian lurched forward and awkwardly pressed their lips together. Roger accepted his eagerness and clumsiness with open arms for the short moment it lasted.

“I didn’t mean to push it any deeper, ’m sorry,” said Brian, his voice low and his fingers pressed to Roger’s chest.

“God you sound like a virgin,” teased Roger. His hands rubbed comforting circles into Brian’s thigh and hip.

“Oh fuck off,” said Brian, with a half-hidden smirk.Roger could’ve stayed there all night, staring at Brian and running the pads of his fingers around the head of Brian’s cock to watch him squirm. But after a few more lazy strokes from Roger, he shied and shimmied away from Roger’s touch. “No no…more. No more.”

“Oh, that’s okay I didn’t want—” said Roger, his words tumbling out of his mouth in a desperate attempt to comfort Brian.

“I have to, I have to shower, we have to be up early.”

“Alright,” said Roger, the smirk fading.

“You don’t mind going back to your own room do you?” said Brian.

“Of…course not,” said Roger, wanting nothing more than stay.

Brian muttered a thanks before awkwardly righting all of his clothes. Roger stared straight ahead at the wall as he did, the silence growing louder by the second. It was so hard to read Brian, it always had been. He wasn’t one to showcase his emotions in the way Roger and Freddie did. But right then Roger would’ve given anything for clear insight into what he was feeling.

Brian awkwardly escorted him to the door and muttered a goodnight at the same time as Roger before retreating back into his room. Roger did the same and found it impossible to sleep.

~~~

“Morning,” said Roger to John and Freddie at breakfast. While he and Brian were extreme haters of the morning, Freddie and John were neutral, which Roger could tolerate. As long as they didn’t try to speak to him until around noon he was perfectly content with them insisting they get up at a ‘reasonable hour’.

Roger collected his breakfast from the buffet and slid into the booth Freddie and John were in, both silently reading different pages of the same newspaper.

“You want the comics, Rog?” said John.

“Too early to be reading,” replied Roger.

“If Brian’s not up soon someone will have to get him, and it won’t be me,” said John.

“I got him last time,” said Freddie as he blew on his coffee.

“He’s a grown man, he doesn’t need us pulling his duvet off like he’s a teenager,” said Roger. His food was equal parts nauseating and appetising which left him in a tight spot.

“It doesn’t matter that he’s grown, he hates mornings and he won’t suffer them,” said Freddie. “And I certainly won’t suffer him suffering them.”

“We could just leave him here,” said John. He folded and flipped the page he was on. “Might teach him a lesson.”

Freddie slapped John lightly and halfheartedly with the newspaper pages he had. “Play nice, Deaky.”

“I was kidding,” said John. “Mostly.”

Freddie rolled his eyes while John sniggered.

“Right, I’m getting everything loaded in the bus,” said Freddie, folding his napkin over his plate as if he were in a much more upscale eatery than a hotel diner that served only room temperature eggs and soft toast. “One of you tell Brian to hurry when he comes out, I’m sure we’ll be late because of him.”

“Speak of the devil,” said John, gesturing with his newspaper over to Brian stumbling in and heading straight for the enormous mound of scrambled eggs. Freddie got a few last sips off his coffee waiting for Brian to meet them at the table.

“Morning, Bri,” said Freddie.

“Morning,” said Brian, his voice still deep and scraggly from sleep. Roger made room for him in the booth, he slid in without a word and reached across the table for the salt.

“I see you’re very excited for our day ahead,” said Freddie, trying to get a smile out of Brian but only getting a pity smirk. “Alright, well, have your coffee and brighten up. I’m off to load the bus—“

“I’m coming with,” said John. “Last time you _crushed_ my bag—”

“I did not _crush_ your bag,” groaned Freddie.

“You did so it was an inch tall by the time we got it out,” said John, leading the way out to the parking lot.

Roger listened to their bickering until they were out of earshot and he was forced to talk to Brian. Talking to Brian in the morning was hell. He was unreceptive, forgetful, mean, and damn near silent. But talking to him after the night they’d had made the task seem almost impossible. So he sipped his flavourless coffee and listened to the awful sound of Brian chewing eggs until he finally couldn’t take it.

“Last night—” began Roger.

“About last night—” said Brian at the same time. They both froze and offered the floor to each other, neither wanting to be the one to talk about it first incase they made a wrong move.

“I’ll, I’ll go,” said Brian finally. “I think we just…forget it happened. I don’t want things to be awkward, I mean we’ve got this whole tour and—”

“No, no I totally agree,” said Roger, unsure if that was even true.

“Oh, oh good,” said Brian with a sigh of relief. “I was worried you’d—well not worried really but I was afraid this would turn into a whole…_issue_.”

“Yeah” said Roger with no real feeling in his voice just desperate attempts at making sure his face didn’t look to confused or upset. “Me too”

“So we just, forget it, and laugh about it in ten years?” said Brian.

“It’s a deal,” said Roger through clenched teeth.


	4. 1975

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's been almost a week I think since I updated, sorry about that! But this chapter is about 7.5k words so hopefully you understand -- Thank you for the comments! I love reading them! Please comment again if you like this chapter as well! Enjoy!

**1975**

“I’m done, Fred, I’m done!” groaned Roger into the mic.

Freddie, on the other side of the glass, sitting in the booth, dramatically twisted his hand to press the button for the tannoy. “One more, Rog.”

“No more! Fred! No more! My voice is entirely shot, it’ll be gone for _weeks_ if you don’t let me have a fuckin’ rest! Good_bye!_” Roger hooked his headphones on the microphone but didn’t head straight for the door just yet. He watched Freddie stew for a few seconds until he reached for the button once more.

“Okay, it’s time to send the engineers home, but I swear Rog if you’ve been smoking or drinking or, God forbid, _eating dairy_ and that’s why your voice has gone to shit—”

“I haven’t,” groaned Roger into the microphone. “I want these Galileo’s as bad as you do, Fred, but my voice has it’s limits you know.”

“With an attitude like that,” chided Freddie. “Go on, take some vocal rest, if you must.”

“I must,” said Roger with his lips pressed to the foam of the mic cover. “Goodnight everyone.” Roger waved to the sound engineers in the booth with Freddie and made his way out of the studio and into the warm night air. The summer had been unseasonably hot but Roger felt they were in the perfect sweet spot of warm nights and sunny days. He rolled the kitchen door open and gave a small hello to Brian and John sat at the bar.

“How’re the Galileo’s coming?” John looked smug. “When I left you’d just hit, what, a C12 right?”

“You’d think I was hitting a negative C by the sound of his disappointment. Honestly, the human voice can only stretch so far.” Roger poured himself a cup of hot water from the kettle and went searching for the tea bags. He hadn’t searched long when one hit him in the back of the head and stayed in his shirt collar. “Thanks Bri.”

“Anytime.”

Roger let his tea steep for a moment. “I swear if he just got a fucking vocal coach,” said Roger, raising his voice hoping Freddie might hear it all the way in the studio, “he could reach higher than me and I wouldn’t be stuck—“

“Your voice is naturally a higher voice and the timbre is entirely different, he’s not just looking for the height he wants the quality,” sighed John. “He’ll never be as comfortable as you up there in your 5s and 6s and 7s.”

“I’ve never hit a 7,” replied Roger weakly. But he knew they were right, he knew he was the only one who could get the sound Freddie wanted. “I wouldn’t mind being the one to do it if he would let me smoke.”

“You shouldn’t be smoking anyway,” said Brian. Roger could only glare at him and was glad John did the same but it didn’t get rid of the superior look on Brian’s face.

“It’s only day one of these takes,” said John, catching Roger’s attention again, “by tomorrow he’ll have a more realistic idea of what your voice can do.”

“Yes. Freddie Bulsara—excuse me Freddie _Mercury_, is going to have a _realistic_ expectation of what I can provide for his magnum opus.” Roger picked up his mug of tea and swirled it with the bag. “It’s like you’re brand new here, Deaks.”

“If you had any brains you would’ve been born with a shite voice like me. I’ve got all the cigarettes, bourbon, and dairy I want.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Who’s telling who to fuck off?” came Freddie’s voice in the doorway.

“Me to you,” said Roger, gesturing with his mug of tea. “Tellin’ you to fuck off and stop trying to surgically extend my range.”

Freddie turned to Brian and John. “You see what kind of prima donna I’m dealing with here?”

“Insufferable,” said Brian.

“Conceited,” said John.

“Any more of this torment and I’ll quit,” said Roger.

“Sure you will, Rog. Now please, go on that vocal rest you were so desperate for,” said Freddie with a grin.

“You’ll need it too,” said Roger. “You’ve got vocals to do tomorrow as well.”

“Well,” Freddie, “I’ll rest later, Paul and I are going down to visit that pub we went to before. They’ve got excellent food there so—”

“What about David?” said Roger, too bluntly. He knew it was too blunt as soon as it left his lips but he hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t really considered the company. Freddie’s secret was an open one but not one that he discussed.

“I…” began Freddie, his cheeks getting a bit pink, “I can have two friends, Roger, what’re you implying?”

“Nothing,” said Roger, innocently, “I just think David is a better _friend_ than Paul.”

“You don’t know Paul like I do,” said Freddie.

“I should think not,” replied Roger. And he knew that was a mistake too.

“Right!” said Freddie, slamming his palm on the bar with a dramatic flair. “I’ll leave you three to discuss every last detail of my personal life ad nauseum, you’ll have far more fun without me listening in.” Freddie crossed the kitchen and made for the door. Roger called after him twice but received no response, didn’t expect to either.

“Tactful as always, Rog,” said Brian.

“Oh, don’t start,” spat John.

“I’m not starting! He put his foot in his mouth over and over—”

“I said don’t start, I don’t have the energy.”

“Should I go apologise or something?” sighed Roger.

“I would,” said John.

“Let him cool off for a minute,” said Brian. “You’ll get nowhere with him in a mood like that.”

“You both know I didn’t mean for it to…I would never—“ stammered Roger.

“We know,” said John, saving him. “Freddie’s touchy and you’re insensitive. It’s a bad combination but he’ll live. Think about your words a bit more next time, yeah?”

“Paul’s just so…I love David,” said Roger, “always have. David is good for him, why does he have to…I mean _Paul?_ What the fuck kind of name is _Paul?_”

“Biblical,” said Brian.

“Alright, smart arse.”

“We don’t have to love him,” said John. “Hell, I don’t even _like_ him but what good is it gonna do us to beat him up about it?”

“Okay, Mum,” teased Roger. John tried but failed to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Speaking of,” said John as he stood from the bar, “I’ve got to call Ronnie.”

“Tell her hello from me,” said Brian.

“Tell her hello from me and not hello from Brian,” said Roger.

“Will do,” said John on his way out.

Roger pointedly avoided Brian’s gaze. The quiet warmth of the kitchen was an air too intimate to be shared with just the two of them.

“Any songs in the works?” said Roger, eager to fill the silence with something meaningless.

“Sort of. More the idea behind the lyrics than the melody, but it’s something,” said Brian. Roger looked up briefly to see Brian was also avoiding looking at him. There was a little comfort in knowing Brian was thinking about the same thing and trying not to let it show.

“Can you tell me, or will it spoil the surprise?” said Roger.

“I’ll let on later, when the lyrics are stronger,” said Brian.

Another silence was starting to invade the room. Roger couldn’t have that, couldn’t have another moment of them both remembering what had happened and refusing to speak about it, so he said, “pool?”

“Pool?” said Brian, perplexed enough to actually look at Roger. “Like swimming?”

“I…well I meant the game pool, but I could swim,” said Roger. “Pool might be refreshing, the house’s been so hot.”

“Alright then,” said Brian with a hint of giddiness in his voice. “Let’s swim.”

~~~

“Cannonball is_ not_ a proper dive!” said Roger as Brian raced him to the pool. “You just curl up, where’s the technique in that!”

“I didn’t say it was a proper dive,” replied Brian as he peeled his shirt off. “I said I could do it.”

“Do a swan dive, whatever that means,” said Roger. He chucked his shoes off and his shirt and trousers followed suit to match Brian.

Roger sat on the edge of the shallow end and watched Brian position himself on the diving board. The floodlights by the shed and the few garden lights were the only thing illuminating the pool aside from the moon. A lot of the detail of Brian might’ve been lost in the shadows had he not been so frightfully pale. Roger swore he was practically glowing.

“Alright, swan dive,” announced Brian.

“Bring home gold,” mocked Roger.

Brian ignored him, too focused on his form. It looked immaculate, the way he cut through the water. Roger wasn’t an expert or even an amateur when it came to diving and swimming but he was fairly certain that was good. And when Brian resurfaced with his hair slicked down Roger told him so.

“My best yet!” said Brian. “Go on, show us something interesting.”

Roger kicked his feet in the water and shook his head. “I’m not the diving type.”

“Is there a type?” said Brian as he swam to the shallow end.

“I think so, the type that can swim usually.”

“You still can’t swim?” said Brian with a grin that Roger didn’t appreciate.

“What’d’you mean ‘still’? You ever seen me, all these years, taking a dip in the fuckin’ ocean of course I _still_ can’t swim.”

“No need to get defensive,” said Brian. The water was barely chest deep on him when she stood by Roger’s legs. “Want to try? It’s very intuitive.”

“Sure it is,” spat Roger. “‘_Queen drummer, age 26, dies in freak drowning accident prior to new album release_’. Freddie would have a fit.”

“You’re not 26 yet though, so we have time to prepare you for the drowning,” said Brian. “Just get in the shallow at least.”

Roger looked at him, reluctance and apprehension clear on his face, and slid into the pool water. Colder than he thought it would be but just as refreshing as he had predicted. Where it was almost chest deep on Brian, it was chest deep on Roger.

“Now what,” said Roger, sounding petulant to disguise his nerves.

“Now walk until it’s neck deep,” said Brian.

“Why the fuck would I do that?” said Roger, one hand reaching back for the wall.

“I’m not going to let you drown, I’m an excellent swimmer,” said Brian.

“What if I’m an even better drowner?” said Roger.

“Hold my arm if you panic, now come on,” said Brian gliding out into the deeper waters. Roger shimmied along the pool bottom with him, the decline getting steeper and steeper until the water lapped at his chin.

“Stop!” said Roger, feeling the panic rising in his chest. Brian held an arm out for him. Roger’s pride wouldn’t let him take it. “God surely this is deep enough for any pool, surely we don’t need to be digging our pools deeper, this is the perfect depth lets just leave it here.

“Or, you could stop being a baby,” said Brian with a smirk. Roger had no response. “Hold my arm and kick, you’ll see it’s easy.”

“_Hold my arm and kick, you’ll see it’s easy_,” mocked Roger. Brian wasn’t deterred. He held his arm out for Roger who grabbed it with both hands and kicked as he was told.

Brian guided him around the deep end. Roger might’ve made comments about his freakish height enabling him to stand in a pool of diving depth but he knew better than to comment on his height, especially when his life hung in the balance. And when Roger got comfortable being led around the six foot drop, Brian swam with him in the fourteen foot drop. The feeling of Brian kicking up the water next to him was unsettling, like the whole operation could go south any minute. Like Brian might suddenly begin to drown and Roger would have to go down with him both on principle and because he wouldn’t make it to the edge on his own.

“See it’s not that hard,” said Brian pulling them up to the wall to rest. Roger held tight to the rough concrete of the edge.

“I never said it was hard, I said it was a stupid passtime and all pools should be forcibly made shallower.”

Brian grinned wide and didn’t bother suppressing the laugh that followed. Roger couldn’t help but join him. He’d never admit to being a little childish or overreacting but he could laugh at himself knowing deep down that was the truth.

“I’m going to swim to the shallow end, you follow me,” said Brian.

“Like…without holding on?” said Roger. “You’re joking.”

“You can do it.” Brian pushed himself off the wall and floated back to the shallow end. “I’ll catch you if you panic, but give it a go.”

Roger, clinging to the wall with his legs curled up against him didn’t feel as confident as Brian. But he didn’t want this to be the new topic of ridicule amongst the four of them. The pool wasn’t very long and at a certain point it wouldn’t be so deep either. And yet he still swam like a shark was about to take one of his legs when he paddled the short distance back to the shallow end.

“See?” said Brian. “Intuitive, easy.”

“Pointless,” said Roger through his panting.

“Yes well now I can let John and Fred know you’re fair game for throwing in the pool.”

“That’s not funny,” said Roger through a laugh. He waded over to the steps into the pool and sat down. The water grazed up against his shoulders, but barely touched Brian’s when he sat down next to him. “Don’t you have something humiliating like this that I can tease you about?”

“I don’t,” said Brian confidently. “And I’m not teasing you. Not everyone learns to swim when they’re young. Feels silly learning as an adult. Vicious cycle.”

“You’re not going to tell the others in the morning about how I had to be carted around the pool like a toddler?”

“No,” said Brian, resting a shoulder against Roger’s. “Besides, you were much better than a toddler.”

“Thanks,” said Roger, knocking his knee against Brian’s underwater.

“Sure.” Brian rested a hand on Roger’s thigh, just above his knee.

“Brian,” said Roger, soft and almost inaudible. Brian turned his head in response and Roger leaned up, hoping to meet his lips. But what he met was Brian’s cheek.

“The fuck are you doing?” said Brian, pulling away.

“I,” began Roger. He’d never had to answer that question, not with Brian. They always just let it happen and then pretended it didn’t. “I don’t know.”

“Whatever you think’s going on, it’s not,” said Brian with a bite in his voice. “I’m happily married.”

“I—You misunderstood,” said Roger trying to save the situation.

“I didn’t misunderstand, we both know I didn’t, Rog.”

Roger couldn’t help get angry. He knew he had no right to be, he had no claim to Brian, he wasn’t even sure he wanted anything other than a relief from the boredom out of him. But for Brian to act so high and mighty as if Roger was some poor beggar’s dog barking at his feet for attention wasn’t something he could let pass.

“Maybe you didn’t misunderstand, but I didn’t misunderstand you undressing me at that party, or coming in my mouth—”

“Hey!” interrupted Brian only to shut him up.

“You’re not the innocent party getting sullied by me every blue moon,” said Roger. “You’re just as much a part of this as I am.”

Brian stayed silent as Roger stormed out of the pool. That was a feat in and of itself. He dragged himself from the water, collected his clothes and wandered through the grass back to the house hoping he would be dry enough to walk on the floors by the time he got to the door.

~~~

It was only midnight when Roger got showered off and dressed again. He could hear Brian milling about in his own room and wanted to barge in and yell. Wanted to remind him of how desperate they’d been for each other the few times they let it show, wanted to throw it in his face that he was just as pathetic as Roger. But that meant so much. That meant admitting something other than just curiosity and convenience was at play.

He shuffled down to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of tea. As it steeped he tried to sort it all out in his own head. Why he’d kissed Brian, why he’d done it again, why he’d done that to him. Why he’d never tried to sort it out before. Why he tried to kiss him again. And maybe the answer was as obvious as attraction, lust, desire. But it didn’t make sense when Brian was the subject. His lifelong friend, his bandmate, his roommate. His married friend bandmate and roommate.

“Rog?” said Freddie, somewhere in the foyer, Roger could just see a sliver of him and Paul. “Rog, is that you?”

“Just ‘avin’ some tea before bed,” said Roger.

“Wild night,” said Freddie with a giggle. When Roger didn’t respond he heard Freddie whispering. No matter how still he was or how long he held his breath he couldn’t hear what Freddie was saying until he called, “I’ll join you.”

He waltzed in looking chipper and refreshed and a little tipsy as he poured himself some tea to sit alongside Roger. “Why the long face?”

“I’ve not got a long face,” said Roger. “Just tired.”

“If you were tired you’d be upstairs asleep. You may not have noticed this but you’re not asleep. So what’s keeping you up?” said Freddie.

“Nothing,” replied Roger with a fake smile just for Freddie. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m okay.”

“I forgive you,” said Freddie. “If you won’t talk to me because of that, it’s in the past. I forgive you for what you said now please, just a little peek into what’s got you so upset.”

Roger sighed and thought, briefly, what it would be like to just unload it all on Freddie right then and there. But looking into his big expectant eyes he knew he couldn’t do that. Freddie was a peacemaker and the idea of Roger doing something as disruptive as coming onto a bandmate would send him into hysterics. “Nothing’s the matter, I swear it.”

Freddie deflated a bit, knowing he’d been lied to. “My door is always open. I hate to see you like this.”

“I’ll be alright after a good night’s rest,” said Roger.

“Okay, if you say so.”

“I do, goodnight Fred,” said Roger. He picked his tea up, rambled up the steps alone and shut himself in his room.

~~~

“You don’t like it because you all want _your_ songs on the album,” spat Roger, one fork prodding the breakfast sausages waiting for them to sizzle and crisp up how he liked it. He’d successfully pretended to be civil with Brian for three full days. He’d had his fit he’d had his moping and he’s written a song about it and just when he was ready to pretend nothing ever happened he was ambushed.

“That’s not it, Roger,” said John with a smirk.

“What is it then, hm?”

“It’s—“ began, John.

“I’m in love with my car?” said Brian with a wince. Roger glared, daring him to finish the thought. “Maybe it’s not strong enough?”

“Fuck’s that even mean, ‘not strong enough’?” spat Roger.

“Sorry I’m late what did I miss?” said Freddie, bounding in already hungry for coffee.

“We’re discussing Roger’s car song,” said John holding back a laugh.

“Is it strong enough? That’s all I’m asking,” said Brian. He raised his hands in surrender, “if I’m on my own here then I apologise.”

Roger could see through that fake facade of humility a mile away. They could all write meaningless drivel and set it to an interesting tune but the minute Roger poured his bleeding heart out into a set of lyrics he was flogged for it, with Brian acting as if it was obvious how bad his writing was, and John acting as if it was a joke. He didn’t expect them to see it as their next hit single or some poetic breakthrough, he’d just written down how he felt in a rhyme and he thought of all people Brian would understand and let it slide without such severe scrutiny.

“How does your new song go then?” said Roger. He snatched Brian’s lyrics sheet away from him. “_You call me sweet like I’m some kind of cheese_.”

“It’s good,” defended Brian.”

“_Wow_,” deadpanned Roger.

“Is that, is that you know—_when my hand’s on your grease gun_. That’s very subtle,” said Brian, earning him smirks and one stifled laugh from John and Freddie.

“It’s a _metaphor_, Brian,” said Roger in a voice that was just below screaming.

“It’s just a bit weird Roger, what exactly are you doing with that car?” said John. Roger rarely, if ever, was angry with John but in that moment he was willing if not eager to hit him. The arrogance spread all over his face like the song was just some silly car song, like none of them bothered to read the lyrics in their entirety.

Evidently Freddie could see Roger starting to lose it and added, “please children, we could all murder each other but who would be left to record this album?”

“Statistically most bands don’t fail, they break up,” said John. John had flippant moods of not caring what he said or how anyone interpreted it. But they’d never lined up with one of Roger’s fits so perfectly that Roger found himself trying to pace in the small kitchen to keep from throwing whatever he could get his hands on.

“Roger there’s only room in this band for one hysterical queen,” said Freddie before taking his leave.

Roger had barely even heard those words when Brian was back on him saying, “you know why you’re angry, Roger. It’s because you know the song isn’t strong enough.”

Not strong enough. What the fuck else did he want? What the fuck else could he give him. The song wasn’t as flowery and poetic as his and Freddie’s lyrics, but it was honest. But none of those words came out. Instead, he picked up a fistful of piping hot sausage and chucked it at Brian. “Is that strong enough for you!”

He’d been so intent on not throwing a fit just to prove he could be level headed but before he knew it he was swiping his arms down the counter and taking plates and bowls with him. “How ‘bout that?!”

One last ditch effort to get them to take him seriously, he grabbed the coffee machine. Finally, instead of smirks they were stone faced telling him to stop, to get a grip. Roger slammed it back down on the counter.

“You arrogant arseholes treat me like I’m for hire! I’m part of this fucking band, I deserve a little respect, I deserve you two not shitting on my lyrics when the beats not even been established!” screamed Roger. “Song’s _brand new_ and you’re taking it apart bit by bit, you don’t even know what it fuckin’ sounds like!” John and Brian both stared at him in stoic silence for a moment. Roger hoped maybe they would break, maybe he’d get an apology out of one. But the time came and went. “Fuck you both, Freddie’d give it a shot. Freddie doesn’t just see me as ‘the drummer’.”

He stormed off without another word from the two of them. And though he was sure he’d made it clear that most of the anger was directed towards Brian, he didn’t mind if John got caught in the crosshairs this one time. John was part of the rhythm section too, he knew was it was like to be thought of as a secondary player in his own band, but Freddie babied him so. None of his contributions were ever overlooked.

Roger stormed up the stairs and went right for Freddie’s side table drawer where he’d hidden Roger’s cigarettes. He nearly ripped the drawer clear out of the table in his frustration. Sitting dead center were his marlboros. Sitting right next to them was a clear bottle. He knew what it was and he knew what it was for but the idea of it, the confirmation of it sent a shiver down his spine. Knowing that Freddie was for certain doing all he could with Paul was too awful to imagine. He picked the bottle of lube up and found it was the same brand he used. He didn’t know what exactly he’d been expecting but that somehow made it worse.

He shut the side table drawer and stomped his way back to his room, lube in one hand, marlboros in the other. He was quick to slide the lube under some of his folded laundry. He had to be civil to Paul, there was nothing about civility that implied he couldn’t throw a wrench in his sex life.

With a cigarette between his lips, he set about finding his lighter and clearing his head. Or he would’ve done had Brian not thrown the door open.

“Jesus!” said Roger, jumping when the door slammed against the wall. “Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

“Don’t fucking slam doors then,” said Brian. “And you shouldn’t be smoking.”

“Piss off.” Roger found his lighter and flicked it on. He lit his cigarette and held Brian’s gaze as he took a long, deep drag.

“Deaky’s done nothing wrong, you’ve got no right yelling at him.”

“I wasn’t yelling at him,” said Roger, very blasé.

“Very mature, Rog. Lash out and cause problems all because I won’t fuck you.”

“Is that what you think this is about?” snapped Roger.

“I’m not an idiot, Rog. I read your fucking lyrics. It’s not very subtle,” said Brian looking smug.

“My lyrics are not the problem here,” said Roger, gesturing with the cigarette between his first two fingers. “Those words were all from the heart, I don’t care if you think they were desperate or silly, those were my words. And without a thought for the tune or the rhythm you dismissed it. I’m upset because you don’t respect me as a musician or as a part of this band.”

“Oh please!” said Brian. “This is all about you getting in a pissing contest with yourself over the other night. I’m sorry, Rog, if you feel rejected but writing those emotions down doesn’t make you a songwriter by nature! A long rambling disaster of lyrics sheet about forgetting love and what? Fucking a car? Rog, that’s not me being spiteful that’s you being biased.”

“I’m sorry your ego is so fucking immense than you can’t comprehend one modicum of my emotions are devoted to something other than daydreaming about sucking your cock but the fucking issue is that you see songwriting as a club I’ve not been invited to, something I cannot contribute to by nature,” said Roger.

“So it has absolutely nothing to do with me rejecting you the other night?” said Brian, leaning in the door jamb like he owned the place.

“Of course it did,” spat Roger. “But that’s not the point is it? The point is if it were anyone else’s song you would’ve waited until you heard the demo but since it was the fucking drummer you pulled it apart as soon’s I’d written it down!”

“I didn’t pull it apart,” said Brian, a little less cocky.

“You _just_ called it a rambling disaster about fucking a car,” said Roger tiredly.

“I didn’t…” began Brian with no destination for his words.

“Just go,” said Roger. And Brian did as he was told.

~~~

“Sounds good, Rog,” said John while the final cut of Roger’s song played in the sound booth. Roger wasn’t embarrassed of his voice the way John was, but it never sounded like he thought it would when he heard it back. So much rougher and higher than he always felt it was.

“I like it,” said Freddie. “I think the guitars sound fantastic on this too.”

“I still think I could’ve handled the guitar myself, I sounded just find on the demo—” began Roger.

“Yes, because we want our album to sound ‘just fine’,” interrupted Freddie.

“I only meant that I could’ve recorded the final cut of the guitar alone, we didn’t need to overdub the red special,” said Roger, crossing his arms tight across his chest. Freddie glared up at him from the rolling chair he sat in. Roger glared back down at him but neither lasted long like that without cracking a smile.

“Brian’s guitar has a signature sound,” said John. “I’d imagine you’d want that sound in the song, it ties it all together.”

“We can take it out if you don’t like it,” said Brian from the couch behind the three of them.

“Don’t be silly,” said Freddie without looking up from the soundboard. Roger didn’t acknowledge Brian had said anything. Days had come and gone and the only olive branch Brian extended was the offer to overdub his guitar into the song. Roger knew that was the best he could get from Brian so he took it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain about it.

“I think the special works well,” said John after a lapse of silence broken only by the quiet repeat of Roger’s song.

“I agree,” said Freddie with a thoughtful tone. “Alright, I’ve got something working on the piano, stay for the show.”

“I’ll stay for the show,” said Roger.

“No you’ll go for the show,” said Freddie, “I need some silence and your critiques aren’t welcome just yet. Everyone back in the house.”

“What if we were rehearsing our own songs in here?” said Brian.

Freddie turned fully in his chair. “Are you?”

“No, but what if?” said Brian with a laugh.

“Alright,” said Freddie, a grin spread across his face, “out out!”

“Fine by me, I was supposed to call home ages ago,” said John as he stood and stretched.

“You and your _wife_ and your _baby_,” said Freddie with slitted eyes, “you’re like _adult_.”

“Almost,” laughed John on his way out.

The door was swinging on it’s hinge when Roger said a quick goodnight to Freddie and headed out himself. His boots sunk just a bit in the mud between the barn-turned-studio and the farmhouse. Roger desperately tried not to think about how he’d be cleaning them meticulously later.

“Rog!” called Brian from the barn. Roger stopped in his tracks but wasn’t sure he was up to turning around and actually having to speak with Brian. But the choice was made for him when Brian slipped and slid his way up to Roger. He landed a hand on his shoulder, “thanks for waiting.”

“What is it,” said Roger, turning just enough and shrugging his hand off his shoulder. They were lit only by the residual lights glowing from the inside and Roger hated how good Brian looked silhouetted by the golden light.

“I’m sorry, for being a dick about your song and for…all of it,” said Brian.

Roger scanned his face for a moment. “Sure,” Roger turned to continue inside.

“What the fuck’s that mean, ‘sure’?” said Brian, tugging his arm back.

Roger yanked his arm from Brian’s grip. “Mean’s sure you are.”

“What’re you getting at—” groaned Brian.

“You don’t give a fuck how you treated me you’re getting off on the idea that I want you—_wanted_ you,” corrected Roger. The mistake brought a shake into his voice a blush across his face though he hoped Brian couldn’t tell in the lighting. “You’re ego’s had a good stroking and you’re apologising because you want the tension to be done with—well then consider it over. I forgive you.”

Part of Roger wanted Brian to grab him when he turned away again, wanted Brian to add something else to say something else but as he got close and close to the side door of their cosy farm house he was more and more sure that was the end of it.

“You mean that,” called Brian.

Roger sighed and turned to face him, “yes, you’re totally forgiven.”

“No,” said Brian. “That you want me.”

Roger stared at him for a few seconds of silence. Incriminating silence. Brian waited a beat, then another, then shuffled through the mud to meet Roger at the edge of the farmhouse.

“Past tense,” said Roger weakly. “Maybe I’ve thought about it with you, maybe I’ve been thinking about it. But it’s not something I’d ever…seriously…” His words trailed off as their sincerity did.

“Admit it, Rog, you want to fuck me and that’s what this whole thing’s been about,” said Brian, looming over Roger.

“Fuck off,” said Roger with no bite. “It was a stupid song about stupid feelings that’re all gone now.”

“Just say it first,” said Brian. Something in his voice sounded so pleading and helpless. “Please.”

Any words Roger would’ve attempted got lost entirely in his throat, so he did the next best thing. He took two fistfuls of Brian’s shirt and pulled him down to meet his lips. Rough and attacking but it provided the relief Roger had been so desperate for. After the initial rush, his grip loosened, became gentle, and moved to lock on Brian’s hips while Brian’s hands shakily explored his chest and neck.

Roger pulled away first, head clearing in the night air. He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t high. And he knew Brian wasn’t either. There was nothing they could blame this on but their own desire, or loneliness, or curiosity. Whatever they chose to call it, it was their own, uninhibited decision. And he couldn’t tell from Brian’s wide eyes what he’d decided yet.

“Your rooms furthest from everyone’s,” said Brian. That was answer enough for Roger.

The two of them hurried up the steps to Roger’s room. Both trying not to sound too eager, trying not to go faster than the other, trying to act as if it was routine as they meandered through the house. But once Roger shut the door to his bedroom that facade dropped and Roger could see Brian’s hand’s shaking as they struggled to unbutton his shirt.

“Let me,” said Roger, swatting Brian’s hands away.

It fell into place from there. Neither of them wanting to say anything to disturb the rhythm. Neither wanting the other to let it sink in how bad of an idea this was. Roger unbuttoned Brian’s shirt for him and let him finish it off while he tore his own shirt clear over his head not bothering with buttons. Roger might’ve reached straight for his belt and done what he’d been daydreaming about for months had he not noticed Brian’s arms awkwardly crossing over his middle. Trying to hide his bony body with his bony arms. Words wouldn’t help, Roger surged up and met their lips, calmer this time, gentler, sweeter, as he untangled Brian’s arms and ran his hands up and down Brian’s back, up and around his chest, trying to convey how much he wanted him just as he was.

Once Brian reciprocated Roger’s touch, leaned into his hands and put his own across Roger’s back, Roger strayed lower to unbutton his trousers, unbuckle his belt. He kept his lips with Brian’s while he unbuckled and unbuttoned his own trousers.

“The bed,” whispered Roger, hoping to more easily guide Brian there. He backed into it and fell with grace. Roger grinned down at Brian and started tugging his trousers off for him. He did the same for himself before climbing on top of him in nothing but boxers. He kissed up his chest, lingering here and there, leaving marks up his neck before finally meeting their lips. He ground his hips against Brian’s and was glad to feel Brian just as ready as he was.

Just as soon as Roger had gotten settled into his rhythm of rocking against Brian, Brian wrapped his arms around Roger and flipped them. He slid his way between Roger’s legs and did as Roger had been doing. His clothed cock rubbed Roger’s just the right way, just enough relief to make him need more. But Roger knew better than to get lost in the feeling. First chance he got he’d flipped them again..

They went back and forth a few more times, teasing each other, getting each other just the right amount of frustrated before switching again. It’d never been a question before, Roger had never wondered who would be taking what before, it was always very obvious. But with that question factored in, his and Brian’s competitive natures came out. The kissing turned more greedy and aggressive, the grabbing left marks, the holds on each other weren’t for pleasure but for dominance. Until finally Roger pinned Brian’s wrists and with one last bite to his bottom lip he whispered, “I win,” and reached for the lube he’d stolen earlier.

“Wait,” said Brian, reaching a hand up to hold Roger’s waist.

“What?” said Roger, trying not to give way and fall on Brian while he was stretching for the bottle of lube.

“I can’t.” Brian’s hand left Roger’s waist as he rubbed his face tiredly. “I can’t take it, Rog.”

“Brian…” said Roger, the phrase ‘I won’ trying to claw it’s way out of his mouth, “I’ll be gentle.”

“Please, Rog,” said Brian, his eyes pleading.

Roger was tempted to point out that he’d wont heir wrestling match, that he was the one who earned the position, but Brian looked so vulnerable Roger didn’t see getting much enjoyment out of semantics. He sighed, deep and defeated, and handed Brian the bottle of lube.

“I’ll be good,” said Brian as they switched positions one last time.

“If it isn’t I’ll quit the fuckin’ band,” said Roger as he spread his legs.

Brian’s long fingers stretched him first, something Roger’d done to girls but never felt for himself. He couldn’t say it was pleasant, but it certainly wasn’t unpleasant feeling having Brian in him. He moved slow and careful and stopped every time Roger winced. Roger’s fists pulled the sheets up while Brian, with Roger’s thighs on his hips, tried to relax him. Until finally he found a sweet spot and Roger hummed.

“Good?” said Brian, his face that of a nervous virgin.

“Good,” sighed Roger, “I won’t quit just yet.”

The fingers didn’t quite prepare him for the main event. He didn’t expect them too. He’d held Brian’s cock before and remembered how foreign the weight and heat felt coming from another person. It felt even more foreign inside of him. Brian went slow and sucked dark marks into Roger’s neck hoping to distract him from the burn. Roger kept his jaw clenched and his fists balled up in the sheets as he slowly sunk into him. He stopped his groaning and wincing when Brian was finally fully seated in him.

“Does it still hurt?” said Brian, his eyes enormous and innocent. Roger could only nod through gritted teeth, his fingers dug into Brian’s back as he tried anything and everything to get his muscles to relax. He knew he looked a mess with his cheeks read and his forehead already sweaty, but Brian didn’t mind. “It feels amazing if that helps.”

“Thanks,” said Roger with a cocky smirk. “Better than Chrissie?”

Roger could tell he’d wandered into strange territory by the look on Brian’s face. A quick flash of almost paranoia, as if Chrissie was hidden somewhere in the room, but when that passed Brian kissed the knee he held in his hand and nodded.

“Move a little,” said Roger.

Brian did. And at first each little movement sent shocks of pain through Roger’s body. But the more Brian moved the more it subsided, the more he could focus on how good it felt, how deep and all encompassing the orgasm building in him was. Roger wrapped his arms around Brian’s shoulders and bit down on the muscle at the base of his neck trying to keep quiet while pleasure was rocked into him. His cock rubbed against Brian’s flat stomach. He wanted more he wanted it harder and deeper.

“Oh God Rog, I’m so close,” whispered Brian in his ear.

“Wh—Already?” said Roger, just now beginning to love the feeling. “I mean—come if you like.”

“‘Come if you like’?” laughed Brian, though his laugh was cut off by the tail end of a moan as he thrust deeper into Roger than he had been. “Oh fuck, Rog.”

He thrusted deeper, harder, and slower then. Punctuating every thrust with an extra roll of his hips flush against Roger as he finished. And though he wasn’t sure he could truly feel it, knowing Brian had come inside him was enough to make Roger desperate for his own release. Brian pressed kisses to Roger’s temple and cheek while he came down.

“How do you want it,” said Brian in Roger’s ear.

“Keep fucking me,” replied Roger. He felt Brian thrust once more, felt the drag of his cock inside him and shivered. Roger could feel Brian shaking with oversensitivity but he didn’t care, he wanted more. And Brian was happy to give it no matter how shaky and jittery he was. Roger stroked himself, hoping to come before Brian couldn’t take anymore.

“Is it good?” said Brian with a voice so small and uneven Roger couldn’t help crane his neck to turn and kiss whatever skin he could find which ended up being the tip of his ear.

“It’s good,” grunted Roger, “just don’t stop.”

The closer he got the more he begged Brian not to stop, to hold out and deal with the sensitivity for a few more seconds a few more, a few more thrusts. He clawed his back with one hand while the other stroked his cock. Brian whimpered and whined in his ear, occasionally biting his neck for some relief, until finally Roger shuddered.

He could feel the orgasm in every nerve ending his body and he tried to muffle the sounds that came with that but was only successful in doing so when Brian shut him up with a kiss. Even Brian’s lips trembled against Roger’s as he gave Roger a few last lingering pumps.

“It’s too much, too much,” said Brian in what was left of his voice.

“So good,” sighed Roger as a thanks.

Brian shuddered again when he pulled out and fell to Roger’s side. They laid there, motionless, catching their breaths for a moment. A lot went up in the air then. It was one thing for this to be hypothetical, an intense dream here and there and few lingering looks and touches, but now it was real and as Roger came down from his orgasm he couldn’t help but wonder where they went from here.

He wouldn’t dare ask Brian. He wouldn’t dare disturb the moment of peace they had together. Instead he watched the imperfections in the ceiling swirl in his sleepy vision and tried to commit everything he felt to memory because he never knew if or when he’d be back in the same place with Brian.

It could’ve been minutes, seconds, or even hours of unbroken silence between them before Brian’s weak voice said, “what did we do?”

Roger turned his head to face him, and Brian did the same. His eyes were blown wide either from the dim light or the uncertainty, Roger couldn’t be sure.

“Should we forget it?” said Roger, knowing the answer had to be yes. It had to be. How could they continue as bandmates with this looming between them, with Brian’s marriage between them. Brian nodded. Roger returned to staring up at the ceiling. Brian stayed awhile, put his head on Roger’s chest and an arm across his middle, totally undisturbed by the mess there. He soaked up Roger and Roger soaked up him. And without any words or ceremony, he got up, slid his trousers back on, and let himself out of the room.


	5. 1977

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!! Sorry for the late update but I had a few things scheduled so I tried to post right before they happened thinking maybe it wouldn't be such a long wait (and then it was)! The chapter after this will definitely not take this long haha! I hope you like it! All of your comments have been so lovely, thank you so much for leaving them they really motivate me so thank you for taking the time!! <333

**1977**

Touring was the heart of it. The reason Roger stayed with it and kept making music really. Getting to perform it live, getting to watch the enjoyment on people’s faces, or rather the blurry light bouncing off the crowd and their cheers, that was what made the long hours all worth it.

Even now, with Christmas coming up and the cold starting to get to his drums just a bit, Roger didn’t mind his arching hands or his sore knees, or even being away from Dominque. Not while the roar of the crowd was in front of him did any of it matter. And doing the bows were bar none the worst part of it. He liked the glory of the applause but the thought of it ending was depressing. He tossed his sticks into the crowd and headed backstage with the rest of them.

As per usual, Freddie cleared all but the four of them in their dressing room while they decompressed and let the adrenaline peter out as Freddie wiped his makeup off and all four of them changed out of their stage clothes.

“Who knew Texas could be so cold?” said Freddie as the draft in the room worsened.

“It’s not as cold as home,” said Brian, hair caught in his buttons.

“But it’s colder than Texas should be,” said Freddie adamantly. “It’s usually a fucking swamp in this fucking city and now it’s imitating Siberia.”

“Where’re we going after this?” said John, mostly into the mirror as he fixed his finicky hair. He’d cut it short to cut down on the maintenance but now complained about how it never laid properly.

“Paul and I want a night in,” said Freddie. “Christmas is in what? Ten days?”

“It’s in thirteen days, Fred,” said Roger as he buttoned up his shirt. “But what’s that got to do with anything?”

“What it’s go to do is that no one goes to clubs this close to Christmas unless their depressed or horribly alone. I don’t want that type of dragging energy around me, we’ve got so many shows left,” said Freddie. He reapplied a bit of eyeliner, subtle, just to his waterline just to define his eyes. Roger watched him gussy himself up for Paul of all people and couldn’t help seethe.

After all their years together, some pathetic wannabe was going to convince Freddie he couldn’t do any better and drag him down. Roger knew John and Brian felt the same but no one could do anything, Freddie was much too stubborn for that.

“What about you two?” said John. “Night’s in as well?”

“I’m an old man,” said Brian, twirling some of his less defined curls around his fingers to give them their spring back.

“You’re thirty,” said John flatly.

“How’s Veronica by the way?” said Roger. “She’s, what, five months along now, right?”

John just glared back at him in his own way. Not so much a glare as it was a blank face that wouldn’t respond. Roger had his flings, Brian and Freddie as well, none of them were saints and none of them were trying to be. But something about Veronica’s pregnancy got under Roger’s skin. He knew his own indiscretions weren’t any less wrong but something about the impending baby had him picking fights with John when his infidelity got a little too open.

“Thank you for that, Rog!” said Freddie cheerily. “Whole room’s dead!”

“Not _my_ fault,” said Roger under his breath with a glance in John’s direction.

“Shall I call Dominque?” said John, his voice even. “She’d be interested in last night wouldn’t she.”

“Boys! Boys!” Freddie sprung up from his chair. “No fighting, not to tonight. It’s Christmas. Almost.”

“He started it—” began John.

“I don’t care,” groaned Freddie.

“At least Dom’s not pregnant,” spat Roger.

“Say that again,” said John, his voice still even and unwavering, the way it always was when his temper got the better of him.

“Do not say that again, Roger!” said Freddie. “It’s Christmas…Christmas eve eve eve eve eve eve eve—”

“We get it! It’s two weeks ’til Christmas,” said Roger, a hint of grin creeping onto his face.

“Well in honor of Christmas eve times thirteen, I think we should have dinner together and go the fuck home to our warm hotel rooms. Everyone take the night off from the debauchery and let’s have a family meal.”

“I’m not going if he’s going,” said John gesturing to Roger. Something in his voice, though none of them could ever pinpoint what it was, let them know he was joking despite his tone staying perfectly monotone.

“That’s the spirit, Deaks,” said Freddie.

~~~

Paul booked the four of them a table at a restaurant none of them cared to learn the name of. They just knew it was high end and they’d be led in through to back to avoid all the stares that came with the look of the four of them all together, each looking more garish than the last.

Paul wasn’t all bad, just all bad for Freddie, so thanking Paul for the reservations in the car ride over was like pulling teeth. But even that little bit of civility got Roger a ‘thank you’ from Freddie on their walk inside through the restaurants kitchen. Roger had ordered his steak before they even sat down, Freddie had done the same with the wine.

“Just like old times,” said Freddie.

“In older times we couldn’t have afforded to _look_ at this restaurant, much less enter,” said Brian.

“The good ol’ days,” said Roger with a hint of sarcasm.

“Remember the night after that one gig at…oh where was it,” began John. “Somewhere in the north when we’d done really well with the crowd and Freddie said we ought to spend all the gig money on a nice dinner?”

“That’s right!” said Roger, a laugh starting in his chest. “And even with all the gig money we still could only split two entrees between the four of us”

Freddie roared in laughter as the memory suddenly came back to him. Brian did the same and shook his head over and over. The four of them quieted just a bit when their appetizers were brought out. Everything on the menu had a name Roger didn’t recognise and was hoping the look of the appetizer would tell him what he’d ordered. It didn’t. They all looked at their strange starters and back to each other and held down laughs until the waiters had left.

“I’ve got no idea what this is,” said Roger as soon as the door swung closed behind the waiter.

“It’s so abstract,” said John. “Like a Jackson Pollock painting became food.”

“Pollock?” said Brian. “I was going to say Monet.”

“Yeah, _you_ would,” teased John.

“Look at us,” said Freddie, his voice lilting, “we’ve gone from being unable to afford a full meal for the four of us to ordering a pre-meal meal that we can’t identify. We’ve really made it haven’t we?”

Freddie raised his glass of wine and the other three did the same and met in the middle with a few loud clinks of their glasses. And as they drank Roger knew they were all thinking back to those times of the four of them. Huddling together for warmth in Roger’s shitty van, bumming cigarettes off crowd members when they couldn’t afford a full carton, eating canned food exclusively for months to avoid eviction. All of it bearable because all of them were together.

As per usual, Freddie was right. A night off from what they usually got up to was refreshing. A reminder of the family they had in eachother was what they needed, just for the night.

By the end of it they’d recounted all of their best stories and gone through their climb up the ladder of success piece by piece with fond memories and rose tinted glasses. The wine eased them all deep in their chairs as the meal came to a close and it was time to sneak back out. They all gave their warmest regards to the kitchen staff, all four a little tipsy, and stood in the loading dock.

No car, and no warmth. Roger had grown accustomed to warmer weather in the winter. Rarely if ever did he spend his winters in the cold freeze of Truro or London anymore, he didn’t like it and it didn’t like him. He crossed his arms tight across his chest and leaned against the brick of the building by Brian.

“What happened to Paul waiting on us,” said John.

“I hope he’s alright,” said Freddie, his voice trailing.

“Let’s just call a cab,” offered Roger.

“We can’t just take a cab Roger, he’s going to show up we have to be here when he does,” snapped Freddie, he shuffled from foot to foot to avoid shivering. “Maybe he’s out on the street, let me go check.”

“I’ll go with you,” said John. “You’ll get lost on your own.”

“I will not get _lost_ on my own walking to the curb and back,” said Freddie as he and John walked off together.

“Typical Paul,” spat Roger once Freddie was out of ear shot.

“He’s not that bad, I doubt he did this on purpose, Rog.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Roger fumbled around his pockets for his carton of cigarettes and heard Brian suck his teeth in disapproval. “I don’t bitch about how you won’t eat bacon.”

“Not eating bacon isn’t going to kill me though,” said Brian.

“Do you remember that time,” said Roger, a grin forming on his face, “when we were in some freezing cold alley behind a pub and you asked for a drag of my cigarette, damn near coughed up a lung.”

Brian turned to him and locked his eyes on Roger’s. A smirk caught the corner of his mouth. “I do remember that night.”

“It took you so long to recover from one drag. Funny night,” added Roger under his breath. The memory of it had become to hazy over the years. The reason he and Brian ended up in that alley outside the pub was completely lost in his mind, but that first desperate kiss between them was still crystal clear. And from the look on Brian’s face, it was just as clear for him.

“We’ve had funnier nights,” said Brian equally quiet.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve had a funny night hasn’t it?” said Roger, hoping his voice wouldn’t shake. He hoped he’d phrased it casually enough, but no matter what, it was clear what he wanted. What he was asking for and what he was hoping Brian would give him. He stared at him, waiting for an answer, and Brian stared back.

“He’s over here, boys!” Freddie’s voice echoed off the brick walls behind and in front of them. Roger and Brian whipped around to see Freddie waving at the mouth of the alleyway. “Hurry, there’s nowhere to park!”

Brian looked back at Roger briefly, opening his mouth to say something but was cut off by Freddie screaming, “I mean it! Run!”

“Well come on,” said Roger defeatedly. He broke into a jog first and started his sprint when Brian caught up to him. John flagged Paul into the bit of curb space available and they all piled into the car as quickly and cleanly as they could. As soon as the door slammed behind Freddie, Paul peeled away from the curb.

~~~

The four of them shuffled through the cold up to their hotel rooms. Freddie hurried off with Paul once the elevator opened and wished them all a good night. John offered up a trip to the bars one more time, and Brian and Roger declined one more time before John slunk back to his room. Which left him and Brian in the hall of a hotel they couldn’t name.

“What time does our flight leave tomorrow?” said Roger, scrambling for anything to say.

“Two, two thirty, something like that,” said Brian.

“Then I suppose we do have time for another few drinks,” said Roger.

“I don’t know of any bars nearby,” said Brian, “but I heard the minibar is on the label.”

“Lead the way,” said Roger, letting Brian walk past him to get to his door. Standing outside his room he wondered if they were really thinking the same thing. He couldn’t be sure and some of that uncertainty contributed to the butterflies in his stomach and his pounding heart.

“I think they’ve got whiskey,” said Brian as he held the door open. Roger made for the minibar to confirm that yes, there was plenty of whiskey to go around.

‘What’ll you have?” asked Roger as he got his bottle out.

“I’ll just have what you’re having, I’m not picky,” said Brian. He sat at the foot of his bed. After a futile attempt to find a pair of glasses for them, Roger joined him there and cracked the bottle open with one quick twist. He took the first swig and let the alcohol burn down his throat before handing it off to Brian for him to do the same. Brian took a smaller swig and coughed at the burn.

“Christ, you’re like a teenager,” said Roger when Brian handed him the bottle.

“I don’t like it straight, that’s not uncommon.”

“For women, no, it’s not uncommon,” teased Roger as he took another swig.

“Rog,” said Brian, one hand gripping the small sliver of the mattress between them, the other clutching his own thigh.

“Hm,” hummed Roger next to him, scooting closer and brushing their shoulders together.

“I wanted to,” said Brian, but he stopped himself short and laughed off his own words. “Nevermind.”

“No, go on, say it,” said Roger.

“It was a stupid thought.” Brian reached for the bottle of whiskey but Roger held it away from him. Brian grinned and rolled his eyes. “Alright fine. Since we’re here, I just wanted to apologise for how I treated you after we…after the farm.”

“What do you mean,” said Roger. Nothing about Brian’s words suggested anything but his heart was pounding at the memory of their night together, at it’s mere mention. It hadn’t been spoken of since it happened, not a single word or joke, and here Brian was, talking about it like it wasn’t their greatest secret.

“I mean,” Brian took the bottle, “I don’t know about you or anything, but I was kind of shaken up after that. I’d never done that with a man, and I’d certainly never done it with _you_.”

“I knew that much,” said Roger trying to diffuse the tension.

“Right,” sniggered Brian. “I don’t know I feel like I treated you differently after that, at least for a little while. It wasn’t fair.”

It was so long ago. All of Brian’s unprompted passive aggressive edits of his drumming, his dismissal of Roger’s issues with his own music, or the times when he simply wouldn’t speak to Roger, not to mention the fact that they rarely spoke outside of the studio for months after that, all those memories got painted over. When Bohemian Rhapsody hit number one their friendship bounced back and they pretended nothing happened. Roger wasn’t sure why he felt the need to stop pretending now.

“I forgave you a long time ago,” said Roger.

“But I’ve felt guilty over it—”

Roger cut him of by resting a hand at the nape of his neck and running his fingers through the curls there. “It’s in the past.”

Brian looked at him with such wide, expecting eyes. There was never any confidence behind them, not in situations like these, and Roger couldn’t get enough.

“Should we have another funny night?” said Roger, low enough that it was almost a whisper. Brian responded by lurching forward desperately and kissing Roger. The brief surge of certainty faded quickly and left Roger in charge with Brian melting against him. Brian’s hands ran up his chest and back down his back feeling every muscle on the way. Roger leaned into the touch as his hands found their way to Brian’s hip and thigh.

They could’ve blamed it on the whiskey, but the desperation between them as they tore buttons and threw their shoes wasn’t a symptom of drunkenness but of desire for each other. It’d been so long and neither wanted to let the opportunity at a repeat performance pass them by.

Brian laid back on the bed and wrapped his legs around Roger’s waist as soon as he climbed up with him.

“You’re not gonna fight me this time?” said Roger, pressing his lips to Brian’s protruding collar bones, soft but wanting.

“No, I want it this time,” breathed Brian. Roger pulled away, just enough to look at Brian. His eyes still wide as saucers, his cheeks bright red, and his lips swollen. He looked so small. So delicate and innocent in a way.

“Fuck, I think I love you,” said Roger, his words coming out before the thought completed in his head.

“What?” said Brian, his arms slid down and off of Roger’s back. “You what?”

Roger had nothing to say. He hadn’t misspoke he just hadn’t been aware that was the truth until it came out. And now that it had he couldn’t think of anything to convincingly put it away.

“Maybe you should go,” said Brian, breaking the silence.

“What?” said Roger, hoping to disguise the shake already in his voice. “You’re just gonna throw me out?”

Brian said nothing but shimmied out from under Roger and found the shirt he’d discarded. Roger watched the fabric stretch across his shoulders blankly. Once his shirt was at least halfway buttoned he tossed Roger’s shirt at him with far too much force. Roger stared at him, unsure what all he was feeling, and watched him pick up the discarded bottle of whiskey and take a long swig of it, avoiding Roger’s gaze the whole time.

“Brian,” said Roger, his voice sounding the weakest it ever had. “What do you want from me?” Brian said nothing but took another swig of the whiskey. “For god’s sake, _say something!”_

“What do you want me to say, Rog?” spat Brian, finally meeting his eyes.

_“Anything!”_ replied Roger.

“You’ve really fucked this up.” Brian set the whiskey on the table top.

“Fucked it up? It started out fucked up, Brian, this was never—”

“You _complicated_ it!” screamed Brian. Roger wasn’t accustomed to hearing Brian’s voice quiet that loud. It rang against the walls of the hotel and left a tense gap of silence between them.

“How is that fair?” spat Roger. “You think I _tried_ to do this?”

Brian groaned and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Roger what do you want me to do? You want me to say it back and let you fuck me?”

“Don’t patronise me,” snapped Roger.

Brian sighed and leaned on the far wall. He looked tired and overwhelmed, but not angry. Which gave him a sliver of hope. Roger gathered what was left of his courage and went to him. And put a hand on his hip and a hand on his chest.

“We’re good for each other, Bri,” said Roger. “Almost perfect. So what if I love you, Brian, just lean into it. Let me.”

Roger got on his toes and pressed his lips to Brian’s and felt Brian’s hands on the small of his back. Roger hummed into his mouth and tried to press his tongue to Brian’s. But his lips wouldn’t let him and when Brian felt the attempt to deepen the kiss he pulled away. Roger got off his toes and looked up at Brian. Expecting him to give in, to say it back, to stop tiptoeing around the obvious.

“Chrissie’s pregnant,” said Brian.

All the air left Roger’s lungs. He muttered, “no she’s not.”

“Yes,” Brian sighed, “she is. She’s due in June.”

“Fuck.” A baby sealed it. A baby was more real than the marriage. A baby was a real commitment, a real responsibility. A real reason Brian would stay with Chrissie. Roger’s hands slipped off of Brian. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” said Brian uselessly.

“Save it,” groaned Roger as he found his discarded jacket.

“Come on—Rog—” said Brian as Roger tugged on his boots. “Rog, look I overreacted—you don’t have to go, I just can’t give you everything you want.“

“What?” spat Roger. Brian stared at him for a few brief moments of silence, obviously not going to continue the thought, but not going to take it back either. “I’m fucking leaving, I’m not staying here to fuck you, not like this.”

“Rog—” began Brian yet again.

“No!” screamed Roger, loud enough for Brian to flinch. “If you want me, have me, but I’m not going to be a toy for you to play with while you’re wife, who you love _so_ dearly, waits for you!”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you,” said Brian, referring to Dominique. And Roger knew it wasn’t different, knew he was hurting Dom just like Brian was hurting Chrissie. But Roger’d said it first, he’d let all his feelings out first and on accident and Brian’s reaction was to announce his impending fatherhood. It wasn’t rational but in the moment Roger felt he’d earned the high ground. “You wanted this just as much as me.”

“I wanted it more than you,” said Roger, shoving his heel into the second boot.

“Rog,” sighed Brian, sitting on the corner of the bed, far from Roger. “Don’t go. You can’t ask me to choose between Chrissie and my future child and you, not on the spot, not now, not two years after the last time I ever had an inkling you wanted me.”

Roger stood from the bed and took another long swig of the whiskey. “I’m making the choice easy for you.”

“Rog,” groaned Brian, the frustration clear in his voice. Roger made for the door.

Brian called his name a few times before Roger slammed the door behind himself. Once it shut he leaned back against it and took a deep aching breath. As he pushed himself off the door and into the hall to meander to his own room, another door opened and slammed, and there was Freddie.

They stared at each other for a moment or two, weak grins forming on their faces as they both silently shuffled their way to Roger’s room.

~~~

Roger poured them bourbon and they spent thirty minutes flicking through the same few channels before they turned the television off and focused on the drinks. They sat on the floor, resting against the bed, staring up at the blank television, each with a paper cup of bourbon in their hand.

“Are you going to tell me what Paul did or shall I guess?”

Freddie sighed. “Nothing really. I just…mentioned how I was seeing David when we go back to London and he went on a rampage about what a,” he hiccuped, “slut I am and how I’m lucky someone loves me.”

“Fred,” said Roger tiredly, “I know you’re tired of me saying this but he can’t handle being with you, he makes you feel like shit because he’s too insecure to—”

“I know I know, I’m an idiot for being with such an arsehole of a man, I’ve heard this one, Rog,” said Freddie quickly. Roger knew that was his cue to shut up and suppress any urge he had to voice his opinion. “I kicked myself out though. If that makes you feel any better. It was far more dramatic to storm out but I’d flung open the door and shut if before I thought about where I was going.”

Roger chuckled and poured them both a little more.

“So are you going to tell me why you were in Brian’s room, or shall I guess?” said Freddie.

“Guess,” replied Roger as he took another gulp of the bourbon.

“I don’t know. You two get funny sometimes,” replied Freddie. “Very secretive.”

“Fred if I tell you the truth will you promise to keep it?” said Roger, lolling his head over to meet Freddie’s eyes. Freddie did the same.

“You’ve kept enough of my secrets,” said Freddie.

“I’m in love with him,” said Roger, his voice barely a whisper.

“Darling,” said Freddie, his face blank, his eyes blinking rapidly, “explain all that, and do hurry I’m on the edge of my seat.”

Roger held back a laugh and got into it. Recounting their first kiss, their second kiss, and their time at the farm. Their awful, their wonderful time at the farm. A lot of what Roger said about Brian, about how he felt, he hadn’t fully been aware of until he said it to Freddie. Freddie listened with open ears and a pensive expression, curling more towards Roger with every word until they finally caught up to the events of the night.

“Act surprised if Chrissie announces it, I don’t think they’ve told many people,” said Roger. “But that’s what he said. I told him how I guess I feel and he said ‘my wife’s pregnant’.” Roger refilled his cup.

“Fuck,” said Freddie just under his breath. “Fuck, Roger, I’m so sorry.”

Roger shrugged and took a sip of the bourbon, he couldn’t feel the burn anymore. “It’s fine. Nothing we can do, I just have to forget.”

“And I’m sorry,” said Freddie. He poured himself a bit more and tapped his foot against Roger’s. “Unrequited love is…there’s nothing more painful.”

There was more Roger wanted to say, more about Brian, more about the aching feelings that would never leave him. But what was the point. What was the point in indulging himself in feelings he’d never get to live, fantasies that would stay in his head. It was easier to just pack it all away and throw it out. He threw back the rest of his bourbon and let Freddie rest his head on his shoulder.

“How could you not tell me something like this,” said Freddie, breaking the silence abruptly. He didn’t bother disguising the hurt in his voice. “This whole time I was looking at you wrong.”

“How do you mean?” said Roger.

“I mean…you’re like me. A bit anyway. I could’ve been more open with you if I’d known you wouldn’t be so disgusted,” said Freddie, he threaded his arm around Roger’s.

“I was never disgusted,” said Roger, covering Freddie’s hand with his own. “Even before I knew we had this in common, I never was disgusted.”

“When we first met, I had a crush on you,” said Freddie, a muffled giggle trailed his words. “I don’t know why, but I was, for the longest time, petrified you’d figure it out and tell everyone we knew. As if you could’ve known, as if you would’ve told. I just got so paranoid about that stuff back then, I figured everyone must see me as a freak. Even you.”

“Do you still feel like that?” said Roger, his words beginning to slur.

Freddie shook his head and sat up from Roger’s shoulder. “Not all the time. And when I do I have Paul, John. Elton even.”

“Not me?” said Roger looking over at him with a smirk.

“Didn’t know you were a member of the club, darling.” Freddie grinned, not bothering to hide his teeth. Roger grinned back.

And Roger tucked Freddie’s hair behind his ear. And he swore he could see Freddie blushing, though maybe that was more the bourbon than it was Roger. And he leaned forward, and waited a few beats before pressing his lips to Freddie’s. Light at first, then deeper, then Freddie parted his lips for Roger’s tongue. Roger’s movements were sloppy and confused by the bourbon, but Freddie didn’t seem to notice.

As Roger’s tongue moved against his, Freddie reached down for Roger’s belt and tugged it open. Roger hummed against his lips when his hand wrapped around his cock and stroked him, slow and heavy. Freddie broke the kiss and abruptly shifted and turned to lie at Roger’s lap and wrap his lips around his cock. Roger could only stare in awe as Freddie took him so easily and effortlessly.

Roger carded a hand through his hair. Too drunk to really think about who was sucking him off, and everything that would eventually come with that. Until Freddie stopped. He pulled off of Roger and rested a cheek against his thigh.

“What are we doing?” said Freddie with a grin.

“I don’t know,” said Roger with a hint of anxiety. Freddie sat up and stroked Roger’s neglected cock for him but his grip was weaker with less intent behind the motions until he stopped completely.

“I want you,” said Freddie. “But just right now, just while I’m drunk and upset with Paul. And I think you want me right now, just while you’re drunk and heartsick over another boy.”

“You think this is a bad idea?” said Roger. Freddie looked from his eyes to his aching cock and back up. He thought for a moment and for that moment Roger held his breath.

“I do,” said Freddie finally. “We’re friends, we should stay that way.”

“You think one night would fuck it up?” said Roger.

“I think…” Freddie’s eyes moved from Roger’s eyes to his lips.

“You’re incredible, Fred, in more ways than one,” said Roger, brushing the hair away from Freddie’s face. “Paul’s jealous and intimidated and treats you like shit for it and Brian…well I just never should’ve fallen for him. Tonight’s awful. We can make it less-awful for each other.”

“Just once,” whispered Freddie before his hand stroked Roger and his lips mashed against his.

Through their drunken haze, they tore each others clothes off and threw them around the room until Roger had him pinned under him in nothing but his pants. Freddie grinned up at him without bothering to cover his teeth and wrapped his legs around Roger’s waist.

“Take me to bed, blondie, I won’t fuck on the floor of a hotel.”

Roger rolled his eyes with a laugh and hurried to heave Freddie up and off the floor only to the push him down onto the bed. Roger tore his trousers off while Freddie tried to help him with the belt to no avail. It was hurried, desperate, rushed and intense but it was just what they needed. A little attention, a little validation and comfort between friends. And when Roger was fully seated in Freddie he didn’t care so much about the end goal but was savouring how it felt to be held and touched by someone who understood him the way Freddie did.

Freddie came without warning, and Roger wasn’t far behind him. When he did he went limp over Freddie and let Freddie hold him as he caught his breath. Both listening to the other’s breathing, both imagining it was someone else.

“Get under the duvet, Rog, you’ll freeze to death,” whispered Freddie. Roger hadn’t even noticed he was falling asleep until then. He awkwardly sat up and pulled out. Both sobering up, both clearing their heads and staring at each other waiting for the guilt to set in as they huddled together under the thin sheets.

“You think they’ll find out?” said Roger as he wrapped around Freddie.

“I don’t care if he knows,” said Freddie. “He’s cheated on me enough. But I won’t tell him for your sake.”

“Thank you,” said Roger, pressing a kiss to Freddie’s jaw. “We’re gonna feel like shit in the morning.”

“Maybe,” said Freddie. “But of all the things we could’ve done, this wasn’t the worst. And, don’t tell Paul but, your cock is much bigger.”

“Oh I’m definitely telling Paul,” said Roger with a laugh. He held Freddie that little bit closer and Freddie did the same. Both trying to squeeze the bit of love out of each other that they wanted from other people. And for the night, it worked. For right then, it was a good enough substitute.

~~~

“Roger!” A pounding on the door jolted Roger awake. “Roger, get the fuck up!”

“Fred,” whispered Roger, shaking his shoulder. The memories of the night before flooded back. Freddie sucking his cock, writhing underneath him, letting him come inside him. Things he never imagined he’d do with any of his friends but had now done with two out of his three bandmates. Though he knew deep down he ought to feel guilty or embarrassed, all he felt was satisfaction and calm. A bit of calm after such a horrible night with Brian. “Oh fuck, Chrissie’s still pregnant.”

“Morning, Rog,” said Freddie groggily.

“Rog, are you awake! It’s almost noon, we’ve got to go and no one can find Freddie!” screamed Paul on the other side of the door.

“I bet _I_ know where Freddie is,” said Freddie. Roger rolled his eyes but grinned down at him. Freddie smiled back. “I know I was drunk but you were the eighth wonder last night. I see why there’s a line out your door.”

Roger laughed and couldn’t help blush. It was a fun, harmless night. But having slept with Freddie was still so surreal to him, still so strange and distant in his own head.

“If I’d’ve known you could suck cock like that I would’ve begged you to years ago. Like you were made to do it,” said Roger.

“Rog!” screamed Paul again. Roger groaned. He wasn’t ready for the real world yet. He wasn’t ready to face Brian after his embarrassing confession, wasn’t ready to think about the baby on the way, and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to fucking tour again. And he knew he had to be ready for all those things by the end of the day but for right then he just wanted a few minutes in the quiet, bare morning he had with Freddie.

Freddie’s finger nails lightly dragged across Roger’s back. “He’s such a pest.”

“He really is.”

“I know you’re worried over Brian,” said Freddie, sitting up a bit and draping himself over Roger’s lap, “but I promise it’ll be alright.”

“For god sakes—Have you choked on your own vomit in there, Rog!” called Paul from the door.

“What’s the excuse for your being in here?” said Roger.

“That I was looking for a room to stay in, it’s not a crime for us to share,” said Freddie. Roger knew he was right. There was nothing inherently strange about the two of them sharing a room, no one would have any way of knowing what happened unless they burst in right then.

“He dropped one of his keys in my room,” said Brian’s muffled voice on the other side of the door. “I can just open it, he might be too hungover to hear.”

Roger and Freddie froze for a moment before they heard the key enter the lock. Freddie collected his trousers and hurried for the bathroom while Roger pulled his trousers on and kicked his pants somewhere under the bed, hoping no one would notice. He’d only done the zip up when the door flung open.

“You’re awake?” spat Paul. “You bastard, you heard me!”

“It’s early,” said Roger with a shrug, trying to look and sound nonchalant, as if he hadn’t fucked Paul’s boyfriend the night before.

“Have you seen Freddie,” said Brian.

“I’m in here!” replied Freddie. He emerged from the bathroom fully dressed in Roger’s shirt and his own trousers. “Sorry to cause a fuss.”

“It’s fine but come along, we’ve got to get ready to go,” said Paul. He took a light hold of Freddie’s hand, though Freddie snatched it away in an instant as they walked out.

Roger knew Brian was behind him, watching him slide his shirt on. There was a lot Roger wanted to say, a lot of deep emotion he wanted to offer him. But none of that beat a baby. So there was nothing left to say.

“Rog, about last night,” said Brian after much too much silence. Roger continued buttoning his shirt and said nothing. “Rog, I’m sorry it happened like that.”

“Like what?” said Roger, flippant and uncaring. He turned with what courage he had left to see Brian looking more meek than he’d ever looked.

“Roger, you surprised me,” said Brian. “It’s been years, I had no idea you even wanted me still, much less you loved me. And this whole thing with Chrissie…I didn’t mean for everything to happen how it did.”

“I surprised myself,” said Roger. “Didn’t know it was true until I told you.”

“I want…I wanted to…” Brian huffed, digging his hands deeper into his pockets, shaking his head. Whatever he wanted to say wouldn’t come easy. And Roger couldn’t help feel that was a good thing.

“Brian, don’t.” Roger waited for him to look up and meet his eyes. “Don’t say anything. You’ve got a wife and a baby and you don’t want me. I’ll live with that just don’t fucking say anything about it. Just leave and we’ll pretend none of it happened.”

Brian looked desperate for words, words Roger really didn’t want to hear. “I do want you I just—”

“You want me as a plaything, as something you can entertain yourself with on tour—”

“Rog—” began Brian.

“And I can’t be that, Bri, I want too much from you,” said Roger. “That’s really it, I want too much. I want what you can’t give me, not now not with a baby. So please just leave me alone and in a week or two it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”

“I don’t want nothing to have ever happened, I just can’t give you—”

“All or nothing, Bri. You can’t cherrypick my fucking feelings. So either love me or forget you ever tried,” said Roger.

Brian stayed silent for a beat, then another, then another. Roger held his breath, hoping beyond hope that Brian would change his mind and leave his pregnant wife for the drummer in his band. But he didn’t. He nodded silently, and muttered an unimpressive apology before walking out. Roger stared at the empty doorway for far too long before one of their road managers reminded him of their close flight time.


	6. 1978

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So two chapters back to back-ish, few days in between! This is the penultimate chapter, we're nearly there! This is tagged angst with a happy ending and I SWEAR that's the truth, I'm too much of a sap for anything else. Please comment if you like, I love reading them :))) <333

**1978**

“And Chrissie approved of you going to this?” teased Roger.

“I told her there would be an afterparty yes,” said Brian to Roger through the mirror in their dressing room. The show was immaculate. As far as Roger could tell no one slipped up loud enough for the crowd to notice and that was all he could ask for.

“Between us and the walls,” said Roger, checking his shoulder to make sure they were still alone, “I don’t believe Freddie’s done half of what he’s said. New Orleans has freaks but surely there’s a limit.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Brian with a shrug. Though he’d never admit it to any publications, he still wore his stage makeup where John had fallen off the trend as soon as Freddie let him. It brought Roger a strange sort of nostalgia watching him wipe it off in the mirror after a show. He didn’t wear the eyeliner the way Freddie did, and he’d stopped mascara entirely, but the bit of black around his eyes and the foundation he hadn’t sweated off was comforting in a way. Like nothing had changed all that much. “She wants me to call home so Jimmy can say hello, it’s been too long. I’m worried I’ll be a little far gone to do it by tonight though.”

“How is he,” said Roger. Brian’s new son, only a few months old, began as a constant reminder of what he could never have. But now, these days, nearly a year on, he wasn’t bothered. On the surface at least.

“He’s good. He’s a baby. I like for him to hear my voice but I don’t know if babies can really,” his words paused as he inspected his newly cleaned skin in the mirror, “if babies can really process that. He’s so young.”

“Ask Deaky, he’s got about forty of them,” said Roger with a grin that Brian reciprocated.

“I’ve got forty what?” said John as he traipsed into the dressing room, ready to leave.

“Children,” replied Brian.

“Not tonight I don’t,” said John. “And if you spend the whole party thinking about your innocent baby at home you’ll have no fun.”

“Fun?” scoffed Roger over-dramatically. “Please, _Freddie_ planned this party, it’s going to be a terrible bore I’m sure.”

“Even as a joke he’d hang you for saying that,” said John in the doorway. “He’s ready to go he’s still talking with Paul but—”

“Talk or fighting?” said Roger as he grabbed two fistfuls of Brian’s hair and fluffed it up for him. Brian laughed and shook his hands out.

“If they weren’t fighting then they’re fighting now. Paul’s being a bitch about the party.”

“He’s always a bitch until he starts drinking,” said Brian. “The stress of keeping up with Freddie is not for the faint of heart.”

“I know,” said John and Roger in unison.

“Boys!” called Freddie down the hall. “Boys!” his voice grew closer. “Boys!” said Freddie in the doorway. “Are we all set? The party’s going well so far, according to Paul anyway. I want to show up before everything’s been drunk and snorted. Let’s get a move on!”

Freddie turned on his heel and rushed out, John mimicked him and trailed behind him. Roger sighed and pulled his jacket on while Brian did the same with his shoes. Roger was one for parties, he loved them and they loved him, but the tedious work of arriving and having everyone call him his full name for the first hour wasn’t something he ever looked forward to.

“I think it’s bad luck having this party on Halloween,” said Brian.

“You don’t believe in bad luck,” said Roger dismissively.

“Well, if something bad happens don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

~~~

Roger always thought he and Freddie were on equal playing fields in terms of debauchery, but Freddie’s party proved he was the true master. He said all sorts about the planning of it, the New Orleans romp for their most recent album, it sounded so interesting. Dwarves with cocaine on their heads, strippers and dancers in cages dangling above everyone, whores of all sorts wrestling for an audience or giving away blowjobs in the backroom. Yes it all sounded fun. Roger never expected him to actually make good on it all.

He wasn’t more than a few lines in when he felt he’d seen too much over the underbelly of society, but a few _more_ lines in and he was glad Dominique wasn’t there to watch him sink to their level. Coming in a strangers mouth after a piss with a drink and a fag in one hand and a few pounds as a tip in the other was certainly not his most endearing moment. He shoved the five pound note into the used and abused mouth of the woman in the men’s room who stayed on her knees, waiting for the next customer, before stumbling back out into the wilderness of a true Mercury party.

The photography was kept to a minimum, Roger remembered getting a few flashes on his way in but hadn’t seen a lens since then and he liked it that way. He took another line off a shining silver tray offered to him like hors d'oeuvres. They were cut so thick he wasn’t sure he’d last much longer if he kept up at the rate he was going.

“Pace yourself,” said a kind but unfamiliar face passing him by. Roger smiled in response but decidedly didn’t take the advice to heart. Most everyone there was unfamiliar except the handful of people he knew from the road or the studio. Everyone there was a freak for hire or otherwise someone Roger wouldn’t care to know in the light of day.

He grabbed another drink off one of the waitresses milling around. He wasn’t sure exactly what Freddie saw in having all the women be naked but Roger certainly wasn’t complaining as he promised the woman handing him a strange mixture of a drink his entire fortune. He downed the first half of the drink too quickly for his own liking and couldn’t see himself on the dance floor until it settled.

His drug and drink addled mind found a moment of calm and quiet when he sat down. He didn’t know where he was, the hotel looked so foreign with all of the decor. Roger didn’t care to figure out which alcove he’d wandered into, he just knew the dance floor was somewhere behind him, and the source of the cheers and gasps was well away. He sank into the velvet of whatever couch he’d sat on and tried to keep his stomach calm and his heart from exploding.

“Mr. Taylor,” said a deep but quiet voice. Roger blinked his eyes, hoping to get them to focus on the man in front of him. “Having fun?”

“Yes,” croaked Roger, “letting the tequila settle.”

The man sank to his knees and pushed Roger’s apart. “Would you like me to help settle you?” His hands trailed up Roger’s thighs. Roger still couldn’t quite make his features out in the dark.

“I’ve just been served,” said Roger.

“I’m sure there’s something left for me,” replied the man. His teeth sank into the leather of Roger’s belt and began to unbuckle it.

“Rog! There you—” began John, bursting through the haze of the party into the hideaway Roger had found. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Roger stood with what little stability he had, shoving the man to the side as he went. “You weren’t interrupting anything.” Roger’s voice sounded rushed and panicked even to his own ears.

“Hey, it’s New Orleans. Might as well try a few new things,” said John though his eyes wouldn’t meet Roger’s anymore. He looked like a flustered school boy, which wasn’t a look Roger had seen on him since he joined the band.

“Deaks—” began Roger.

“I only came over to find you cause Fred thought you might want to see this,” John’s words slowed as he watched the man at Roger’s feet get back up, “um this, this woman smoking with her pussy.”

“She’s what?” said Roger with a choked laugh which seemed to snap John out of his funk as he went into further detail and led him back to the heart of the party.

As soon as Freddie saw Roger through the crowd he lit up a new cigarette for the woman who was splayed out in someone’s lap. And just as John promised she ‘smoked’ with her pussy.

“Fantastic, darling!” screamed Freddie over the music and crowd. “Absolutely brilliant!”

The woman gave her small audience a bow and grin. She gave a regal wave following the applause she got and disappeared into the crowd, off to refresh her drink. Freddie clapped Roger on the back a bit too hard, the drinking and the coke impeding his sensitivity.

“What’d you think, Bri?” said Freddie. Roger nearly corrected Freddie and reminded him his name but soon realised Brian was at his side. He didn’t notice him before and he had no idea how long he’d been there. Whether that was due to the show they’d watched or the numb feeling in his whole body, he couldn’t tell.

“Certainly something new,” said Brian, diplomatic as ever.

“And you Rog?”

“If she can do that with a fucking cigarette just imagine,” said Roger, patting his pockets for his own carton.

“She’s not one of the many for hire, Rog.”

“Saw you coming from the backroom,” said Brian before burying himself in his drink.

“Jealous are you, May?” teased Roger. Freddie choked on a laugh. “Come on there’s plenty to go ‘round.”

Roger pulled him down to his level with one hand on the back of his neck. And he pressed their lips together in a sloppy, careless way that reflected just how far gone and how uncertain he was in what he was doing. Roger pulled away first and grinned big, wide, and fake. Hoping a cheesy smile would disrupt the tension in Brian’s face.

“You’re all faggots!” cheered Freddie in his high and drunk state as he fell back into the crowd and disappeared. Roger laughed with him as he left, hoping to maybe let it all slide as a joke. He didn’t turn his attention to Brian again, too afraid and impaired to deal with whatever Brian felt.

At least, until he felt Brian’s hand on his hip. He looked from Brian’s fingers curling around his side up into his wide open pupils. And Brian looked into his. And for a moment, for a moment it didn’t matter who saw or who was there. All Roger cared about was getting closer and he did. Or maybe Brian did. He couldn’t quite tell who started it but Roger was determined to end it. As soon as their lips and tongues met he clawed at Brian, begging for the rest of him.

Brian pulled away abruptly and held him at arms length with one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest. “Um,” was all he could say as a brief and fleeting moment of clarity rushed him and Roger.

“Yeah,” replied Roger.

They stood in a silence that neither of them could really gauge the length of, staring confused at each other, curious about what the other was thinking while not fully knowing their own thoughts.

“Weird,” said Brian, finally.

“Strange yeah,” replied Roger.

Any words they might’ve said died by the loud thrumming beat of the music playing. So for a moment they were silent and let the music give them an earned pause.

“Bri,” said Roger, digging in his pocket, “take this. Do what you will.”

Brian took the key from Roger’s hand and read the room number off the inscription. “I’ll…see you later then.”

“I think I’ll turn in soon,” said Roger cooly. Brian looked frozen with shock still when Roger left him to chase down another waitress for a new drink.

Once he caught her he downed it in one long gulp and set the empty glass on the tray with a sloppy wink as a tip for the waitress. She rolled her eyes and wandered off. Roger’s next goal was Freddie and a casual goodbye. He wandered through the crowds hoping Freddie would be at the center of some big commotion. And that’s where Roger found him. In the center of the dance floor dancing with a man much taller than Paul.

“Fred!” screamed Roger over the music, “I’m heading up!”

“Not you too!” screamed Freddie. “Brian said he’s off to hunt Peaches and now you!”

“I’ve had the time of my life, honestly! Made full use of all the services here!” said Roger with a grin. “And I’m not going alone,” added Roger when he saw Freddie’s face fall a bit.

“Excellent, darling! I’m glad you’re having fun!” said Freddie, Roger only knew what he was saying by his lips, his voice drowned out by the other voices and Roger’s ears still ringing from the show earlier. “Have good night!”

~~~

Roger caught an extra line on his way to the elevators and was thankfully able to get a lift up alone. He needed a minute alone with elevator mirror to think, to fix his hair, to check and see just how big his pupils were while he thought over the bad decision he knew he was going to make.

He hadn’t thought of it since, hadn’t thought it a possibility, but under the circumstances he didn’t see how he could say no to him. Not when he wanted him as badly as he did, not when he was so drunk and high he could barely think.

The elevator dinged and Roger leapt off in search of his room. He dug his spare key from his pocket and couldn’t help but notice Brian had already hung the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the handle. Something about it felt so vulgar but so enticing.

“Bri?” called Roger, his voice sounding so soft compared to the raucous party below them. Brian looked up from where he was knelt down by the minibar looking for a nightcap. He stood when he saw Roger, stooping still, like the awkward sixth former he’d always been deep down.

“Hi, Rog,” said Brian trying to casually wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers.

Roger couldn’t help fall for the endearing little quirks Brian had that were always amplified by his nerves. He threaded the chain lock and bolted the door before closing the distance between him and Brian.

Words wouldn’t help them then, words could only bring the night to a screeching halt, so he didn’t use any. He grabbed Brian’s collar and pulled him down to meet their lips and Brian was pliant under his touch. Accepting every way Roger clawed at him and manipulated him, just savouring everything Roger would give him. It wasn’t long before Roger’s hands moved from the small of Brian’s back to the buckle of his belt. His fingers still shook from the cocaine but he knew tearing and tugging would get it off eventually.

“Wait,” said Brian, covering Roger’s hands with his own. “Let me.”

Roger tugged once more, hoping to prove he could do it, but Brian had other plans. He took Roger’s belt in his hands and unbuckled it with one swift motion. He unzipped Roger’s trousers as easily and took his cock in his hand even easier. The feeling of Brian’s hand on him was so unfamiliar, so foreign and so magnetic. Brian’d touched him before but never with this much attention, never for this long, never with their gazes fixed on each other.

Just when Roger felt he ought to lean forward and capture Brian’s lips, Brian leant down to kiss his collar bones that had become a bit exposed over the course of the night. And he stopped stroking Roger to nudge his jacket off, and unbutton a few buttons on his shirt as he pressed a kiss or two to his chest. Then he sunk to his knees in a graceless motion. He tugged Roger’s trousers and pants down a bit further and pressed a hard, biting kiss to Roger’s left hip before dragging his mouth up Roger’s cock and finishing the motion off with a few pumps from his hand.

“I’ve never done this,” said Brian, meek and embarrassed.

Roger ran a hand through his curls. “I don’t mind.”

“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” said Brian.

The phrase ‘you can’t’ came to Roger’s mind and he might’ve said it had he not been cut off by Brian’s mouth. He took just the head and focused his tongue there for a moment that had Roger desperate for more. With a little coaxing from Roger’s hand on the back of his head, Brian took another inch, though Roger could tell he was really at his limit then. He didn’t care, Brian’s hand supplemented the rest of his cock while his warm, welcoming mouth focused on what he could take.

And it was obvious Brian hadn’t ever done it before. His tongue didn’t cover his teeth quite right, and his cheeks didn’t hollow the way they should’ve. He gagged too much, and sometimes was focus so hard on what he was doing he forgot to move his hand. It wasn’t the best blowjob Roger’d ever gotten. But it wasn’t bad and it felt even better knowing Brian was doing it out of a desire to do something for him. Not to show off, or to make him come early, but to reciprocate a little of what Roger’d done for him over the years.

“Bri, Bri, stop or I’ll come,” said Roger. He hadn’t really expected Brian to be able to get him close, not with his mouth anyway and was pleasantly surprised he had to pull him off to avoiding ending the night early.

“Good?” said Brian, as he ran the flat of his tongue up Roger’s cock.

Roger backed up, he really couldn’t take anymore sensation. “Good,” reassured Roger as he pulled Brian to his feet.

Roger had no qualms with kissing him, though he could tell Brian was a bit self conscious when he ran his tongue along Brian’s.

“I want you,” said Brian, almost too quiet to be heard. His lips grazing Roger’s when he spoke.

“You’ve got me,” replied Roger. He kissed him too roughly, with too much need behind it. But Brian didn’t mind, he melted into the touch. And when Roger tore his shirt off he didn’t flinch but returned to his lips in a frenzy of desire. He clung to Roger, too tight, as he ripped his belt from the loops and shoved his trousers and pants down as much as he could without breaking the kiss Brian seemed he’d never leave. That is until Roger stroked him, once, twice, and Brian sighed.

A deep, shaking sigh. Almost of relief. He rested his forehead in the crook of Roger’s neck and pressed kisses to any skin he could reach while Roger’s thumb circled the head of his cock.

“Lay down, I’ll find the lube,” said Roger in Brian’s ear.

Roger rummaged through his bag while Brian watched him from the bed. His hands shook as he did. He couldn’t tell if it was the nerves or the coke or some combination of both but as long as Brian didn’t notice he didn’t mind.

He threw the lube on the bed before following it and climbing on Brian, settling between his legs and letting Brian try to unbutton his shirt while he bit and sucked deep marks into his neck and chest. Brian just barely freed the last button and Roger sat back to tear his shirt off. Brian watched him with his arms cross over his chest, his eyes following Roger’s every movement as he uncapped the lube and coated his fingers.

“Does it hurt?” said Brian.

“At first,” said Roger, one hand rubbing his thigh. “And then it _really doesn’t_.”

“Okay,” said Brian, his words sounding somehow less reassured than he looked.

“I’ll be gentle,” promised Roger in a quiet voice. He pressed one finger into Brian. The tightness, the heat, the look on Brian’s face. It was all too good.

Roger kissed away any wincing Brian did. He promised if he held out a bit longer it would feel good. And then it did. Roger’s three fingers grazed something good that had Brian whining in his ear for him to do it again.

“Now imagine how good it’ll be when my cock’s hitting that spot,” said Roger in a low hum. Brian whined and in a not so dignified voice begged Roger to show him how good it would feel.

Roger did as he was begged. He coated his cock with as much lube as he could and slowly sank into Brian. He was so tight, so hot, he couldn’t imagine lasting all that long, not without the whiskey numbing him just a bit.

“Fucking christ,” husked Roger in Brian’s ear once he’d bottomed out. He kissed Brian’s neck and pulled away just enough to kiss his forehead and lips, to try and distract him from the pain he knew about all too well. “It’s so good, Bri, better than any woman.”

“Oh yeah?” said Brian, his voice catching in his throat. He offered Roger a shaky smile which Roger kissed away. He didn’t need a brave face from Brian, he could wait out the discomfort and let him get used to the feeling for a minute. And he did.

He took time to adjust but once he whispered ‘move’ in Roger’s ear, Roger moved. The shallow thrusting, the mere inches of movement, were enough. Brian’s walls were too tight, too welcoming to need anything more. He moved slow, deep, but careful in him. Letting him really feel every inch of his cock working inside him. Brian’s heels dug into his back, his version of asking for more. Roger gave it to him, really thrusting then, more desperate for him than he’d ever been. He kissed his shoulders, his neck, his lips, his jaw. His hands traced his bony ribs and flat stomach and clawed his hips as he fucked into him harder and harder.

When Roger saw Brian reach to stroke his cock, he shooed his hand away and worked for him. Quick but heavy strokes as Brian lost control under him. Roger could so clearly recall that feeling. The orgasm starting deep inside and bursting forward, he knew how overwhelming and intense it was. And how good it was. And he wanted to make Brian feel just as good as he had their first time together. Brian clung to him for life, scratching up his back and whispering Roger’s name in his ear over and over the better it got until he came.

His whole body shook under Roger. His legs pulled him in deep and his arms locked across his shoulders, one hand scratching his skin the other tugging his hair. Roger fucked him through it, getting in deeper with the short rolls of his hips he could manage.

“My turn,” hummed Roger against Brian’s temple as his hips drilled into him harder and faster than before. Brian’s oversensitive body trembled in response. Roger didn’t pay it any mind. He held onto him tighter and muttered Brian’s name over and over until he pumped him full.

Roger kissed Brian’s sweaty forehead once he caught his breath. And smiled at him, big, wide, and genuine before kissing his lips chastely and settling against his chest. Brian grinned back and played with his hair, running his fingers through it and scratching his scalp as he went.

“So good,” breathed Brian. “Amazing.”

“It’s the coke,” said Roger, his lips muffled against Brian’s skin.

“No it’s not,” Brian’s other hand scratched gentle marks up Roger’s arm. Roger relaxed against him, not bothering how much weight he rested on him. “That was all us.”

Roger lifted his head to grin at Brian who grinned back.

“You’re hair’s gotten so short,” said Brian, his fingers gently tugging at it. “Last time we were like this it was to your shoulders at least.”

“That was a long time ago,” said Roger, a little hurt seeping into his words.

“A long time ago,” said Brian, brushing his hair out of his face for him. “Three years, is it?”

“Feels like decades,” said Roger. He wrapped his arms around Brian, forcibly threading them under his shoulders to bring him as close as he could. “You know…I still…”

“I know,” said Brian, his voice sweet and lilting. “I know how you feel.”

The silence that followed Brian’s words, silence devoid of any reciprocation, were telling. Damning even. Roger chose not to pay it any mind, not now, not while he had Brian in his arms.

They laid there, for a long while, not saying much. Not caring to. They could talk to each other all the time, there were only a few moments where they could be like this together. Where they could feel and touch each other and really look at each other, hold each other. Things that felt so small became so big once they had them in their reach again. Roger savoured ever kiss he pressed to Brian’s chest and neck, and he hoped Brian savoured the feeling of Roger’s back under his finger tips as they lay there, the mess between them, neither bothering to care.

Brian eventually mentioned his leg had no blood left in it and Roger rolled over. Brian rolled with him and mashed their lips together, firm but not rough. Just what Roger expected from his outbursts of confidence.

“You know I don’t want to talk,” said Brian, his tongue interrupting his own words to force it’s way into Roger’s mouth. “If this is gonna take another three years to happen I want it to happen as much as it can.”

Roger didn’t want to fight, didn’t want to ask why he thought they only had tonight, why he thought it would happen again, what that meant for them in the end. He didn’t want to think about that, discuss it through, and upset himself. He wanted Brian. So he laid on his back and let Brian have him, get deep inside him, again and again and again.

~~~

Roger’s last memory of the night before was coming deep in Brian, hearing him mutter something about showering, and as soon as Brian had left, passing out in the center of the bed. When he woke he was securely under the duvet with Brian curled up against him.

He brushed a hand through his curls and let his thumb stroke his cheek. The last time they found themselves in this situation, they woke up alone. The act wasn’t foreign to him, but the aftermath was. The tranquility and calm and love of the morning after with Brian was uncharted territory.

Brian’s face was so stoic and relaxed when he slept, whereas in the light of day his brow was always tense with something new. Roger ran his fingers across his temple, his forehead, feeling him lean into the touch in his sleep, and wondered if it really did have to end there. If they really did have only this one lonely night in New Orleans that they’d pretend never happened as soon as they stepped out of the hotel room. Maybe it was different this time, maybe Brian felt differently this time, maybe he was ready for more.

“You’re awake,” groaned Brian, a smirk tugging one corner of his mouth.

“I am,” said Roger.

“What time is it?” Brian’s eyes were still shut with no intention of opening anytime soon.

“About eleven,” said Roger, peering over Brian’s shoulder to see the blinking 10:45 on the hotel alarm clock. “We’re in no rush.”

“I was supposed to call Chrissie last night,” said Brian as he nestled closer into Roger’s chest.

Roger deflated at the thought. Brian’s wholesome little family at home was still waiting for him, just as they had been the year before when Roger turned him down adamantly. He said nothing just held Brian closer, more possessive in his hold. As if holding him tight in their bed would prevent him from going home, from going back to London and throwing away everything they’d made.

“Our flight’s at,” began Brian, one arm lazily draping over Roger’s waist, “three?”

“Three,” confirmed Roger. “I suppose we ought to shower.”

“You ought to,” grumbled Brian. “I washed all the come off me last night, it’s your turn.”

He punctuated the thought with a lazy kiss to the base of Roger’s neck as Roger sat up and shimmied out of Brian’s warm hold. Brian fell back asleep in an instant, not bothered by the empty space Roger left.

~~~

“Where are we off to next?” said Brian as he pulled his clothes on from the night before, sleep still weakening his fingers.

Roger shrugged. His hair was blowdried just how he liked it, which earned him some teasing from Brian but he didn’t mind it, didn’t mind the attention no matter what form it came in. He buttoned his freshly pressed shit up with no real care, his mind racing too much to realise he’d put all the buttons in the wrong holes again.

“Here let me,” said Brian, unbuttoning Roger’s shirt for him and making sure to line them up properly on his go around. Roger watched his face intently. He seemed about to speak but no words ever came out.

“If you’re going to say something say it,” said Roger.

Brian paused the righting of Roger’s shirt for a moment to laugh. “Am I so transparent.”

“To me you are.” Roger covered one of Brian’s hands with his own and eased it off his chest before letting go. “What’re you thinking?”

“Rog,” began Brian. His voice uneven and his words already uncertain as he snaked a hand back up Roger’s chest. “Rog, can we have this?”

“What do you mean?” Roger tried to ignore Brian’s hand resting against his neck comfortably, while the other found his hip.

“I mean this, these nights together. Why do they have such a high cost.” One hand cupped Roger’s face. “I have a family, I can’t abandon them but, Roger, I want you. All of you—”

Roger swatted Brian’s hand away. “You want some of me. You want me in secret. Brian, I can’t live like that. I love you. Really_ love_ you.”

“I love you too,” said Brian. Roger could practically taste the insincerity.

“Yeah well,” said Roger, shaking Brian’s other hand off his hip, “that’s not really enough, Bri.”

“I can’t leave my son, I can’t leave my wife, I have a responsibility to them, Rog—” began Brian.

“Okay,” snapped Roger, “then go be responsible to them without me. I can’t do it. Last night was it, that was the end.”

“You’re being dramatic—”

“Fuck you,” spat Roger. “Fuck you, I have fucking feelings. You can’t expect me to be happy being your secret until little Jimmy turns 18 and you can divorce!”

“If you loved me you would understand why I have to do this!” snapped Brian.

“Fuck that—if you loved me you wouldn’t want to me to sit on the sidelines waiting to suck you off while you and your family pretend nothing’s wrong!”

They stared at each other, moments of silence passing interrupted only by their breathing. Both waiting for the other to break, for the other to admit they were wrong to admit there was a way they could succeed together. But neither did.

“See you outside, then,” said Brian, taking his jacket and slamming the door to Roger’s room.

~~~

Roger didn’t bother folding his clothes. He stuffed them into his bag haphazardly, hurting the fabric as much as he could, for some kind of release and reprieve from his feelings.

He couldn’t talk it out with Dom, he couldn’t talk it out with Brian, he couldn’t talk it out with his friends back home, not even his sister. Freddie might listen but he’d only tell Roger what he didn’t want to hear. That Brian was a family man and he’d never win out against a wife and child. It was the truth, Roger knew that deep down, but he didn’t want it repeated back to him.

He patted his pockets for his wallet, his passport, his cigarettes and his sunglasses and sat at the desk in his room. Tired from the night before, physically and emotionally, and not in any mood or condition to think about anything other than the room he was in, the feeling of the leather arm rests against his palms, the scratchy carpet under his shoes and the fluorescent lighting that made it all look that much more bleak.

“Rog,” came a knock at the door with John’s voice behind it, “Rog, are you in there?”

“What is it?” called Roger, his voice quieter than he remembered it being.

“Fuck,” said John, muffled by the door. “Fuck.”

“Fuck what?” grumbled Roger. He used what was left of his willpower to stand and meander to the door. When he flung it open John stood there, looking like he’d seen a ghost. “What’s wrong Deaks?”

“Nothing,” said John, his eyes wide, his cheeks getting pinker by the second.

“Something,” replied Roger. “Go on and tell us.”

“It’s just that I saw you last night give a room key to Brian and…this morning I saw him leave from here I just…” said John his words trailing. “I thought you might’ve switched rooms or something but you’re…here.”

“Oh,” said Roger, his brain panicking to find an excuse. “He needed to get something out of my room, he left something here, that’s why I gave him the key last night. And he…was returning it…this—this morning. Yes he borrowed something last night and returned it this morning.”

Roger finished his lie with a big grin to try and sell what he knew John would never buy. He could smell a lie a mile away and Roger knew there was no point trying to fool him but the truth was too much. For just then anyway.

“That so?” said John flatly. His disbelief clear on his face. “What did he borrow?”

“Hairbrush,” said Roger as confidently as he could.

“I see. So you stuck your tongue down his throat and then gave him your room key so he could borrow your hairbrush and invited him over, wearing the same clothes he wore last night, to return it this morning. I see.”

Roger stared at his shoes for a moment. John knew about Freddie, he wasn’t afraid of getting hit. But he was afraid of the judgement on John’s face. The lecture about his wife and son, the lecture about the risk he was taking fucking someone in the band, the lecture about how careless he’d been being so open at the party where anyone could’ve seen. And he didn’t need to hear those. He knew what he did was wrong, he knew it was risky, he knew it was a bad idea, and above it all he knew he was heartbroken.

“Rog,” said John, after a long silence.

Roger looked up at him with red rimmed eyes and grinned an overly theatrical grin before sliding his sunglasses on to avoid the stares as the tears welled in his eyes. “Yes, Deaks?”

“Can I come in?”

Roger checked his watch and checked the hall before letting John in, just in the doorway, just enough for privacy. He didn’t have the strength for the whole awful conversation.

“How long’s this been going on?” said John.

“Since…” Roger thought back, fondly and full of nostalgia, thinking of their cold nights together, finding warmth in each other, “ I don’t know…since a long time ago, It’s just a bit of fun that’s all.”

John reached to wipe the stray tear Roger hadn’t noticed running down his cheek. “Yeah, certainly seems like a laugh.”

“It is really. I mean we’ve got to, to stop. Chrissie and Jimmy and all that,” said Roger, the tears coming a little too fast for him to really keep up. He muttered something about allergies as he swiped a few tissues of the desk and scrubbed his face a bit too roughly.

“Rog…” said John, tiredly and awkwardly but genuinely. He cared, Roger could tell, but he didn’t know what to do. And Roger couldn’t blame him for that.

“It’s fine, Deaks, really. Really I’m fine,” said Roger, assuring himself just as much as he was assuring John. “I don’t want to talk about it though. Let’s just let this pass, eh?”

“We can talk if you want, I’m not as motherly as Freddie, and I don’t know as much about _this sort_ as him…but I’m here,” said John with a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” said Roger, still wiping the tears off his cheeks as if he didn’t know why they were there, casually with a big fake grin on his face that he hoped John would mirror. “Maybe some other time, maybe later. But really nothing’s happened, nothing’s changed. I love Dominque, he loves…Chrissie. The world’s still turning.”

“I can see the cracks in your brave face, Rog,” said John.

“Well then stop looking,” replied Roger. John searched for something to say to him, Roger could tell by the half formed words that got lost in his head and the clenching jaw that looked like it might break. And though he appreciated the effort, he appreciated John wanting to be there for him, to help him, he didn’t want to talk. So he took a step into the room, grabbed his bag and clapped John on the shoulder. “We’ll miss the flight at this rate.”

And on the journey to the airport he grinned through his bloodshot eyes, complaining about a lack of sleep to anyone who pointed it out. He kept his glasses on when he could and when the four of them boarded their jet, Roger got a seat more secluded from the others, and pretended not to notice Brian’s indifference, and pretended not to notice Freddie and John speaking in hushed tones to each other in the back, guarding their words from the staff. He focused on the white sky that looked golden through his sunglasses, and thought of getting home to London, seeing Dominique and melting into her arms the way he always did after a long while away. It wasn’t the life he wanted for himself, but he could live it. If he had to.


	7. 1982

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been a week and a bit since I updated I'm terribly sorry but this is a long chapter! I hope you enjoy it! Comment if you do and thanks to everyone who read all the way through! Let me know if you want an epilogue chapter, I feel this one kind of needs it? But yeah, let me know if anyone wants that! And thanks again for reading <3

**1982**

**Munich**

Munich had been fun in their tours past. In their vacations, in their spare time, in their short studio visits it was a city with a booming nightlife and interesting people. But there and then, trapped in a dingy basement recording music he didn’t feel totally connected with, with bandmates who were irritable and frustrated, Roger didn’t find Munich to be so welcoming.

Funk, disco. Sounds Roger wasn’t prepared for if he was honest. When he was younger, rock ’n’ roll was cutting edge, anti authoritarian, loud and obtrusive and fun. And though he hated to admit it, it wasn’t so cutting edge now, on it’s third decade of creation. There was more to be said, sure, but it was mainstream in a way that made people want to stop listening. He felt the change coming when he suggested stripping down News of the World. But such a big change came with John’s vision.

John had always liked different music from the three of them. Hell they all liked different music from each other. But Roger could get behind Brian’s desire for heavier thrashing, and Freddie’s inclination towards opera and theatricality. And they all got behind Roger’s love of punk. But John’s disco was so off the beaten path in Roger’s head. He fought initially, fought to bring them all back to their roots until he heard how hard Brian was fighting it.

“Good,” said John over the tannoy, “I mean I think the drum sound’s really solid, I didn’t hear a mistake.”

“Might as well get another take,” said Roger.

“Remember when we recorded the backtracks all together?” said John with a remorseful laugh.

“Days gone by,” said Roger, a sad smile on his face.

He and Brian liked to pretend nothing happened. Liked to get drunk and talk about their kids and their loving wives and hug each other too tight on the way out. But nothing more, never anything more. As far as anyone, themselves included, was concerned they were happy with their lives. Roger picked at him more, liked to start fights more, and noticed Brian didn’t like to end them. Anything to get a little more blood pumping between the two of them.

That’s how they coped, and Roger couldn’t know who started the trend but they continued it. Brian would wrap himself around Roger after a show, sweaty and eager and Roger would yell at him for his sloppy playing. Roger would drunkenly slip a hand in Brian’s pocket, and Brian would call him names, take jabs at his parenting. Anything to get out everything they felt without getting it out. But it had to stop when Hot Space began. Roger couldn’t gang up on poor John who was already meek enough. No matter how forceful he seemed, Roger knew he was worried about the album and Roger didn’t want to make it worse. Especially not after he recorded the guitar solo Brian refused to record. No he couldn’t stand being replace by a drum machine, and he really couldn’t stand being on the same side as Brian during a fight.

“Rog,” said John, interrupting the clean but lifeless playing Roger was doing.

“Yeah, Deaks,” said Roger into the mic.

He saw Freddie move John out of the way to get to the loudspeaker mic. “Rog, that’s the wrong song. We’re doing backtracks for Calling All Girls not Cool Cat.”

“Oh…How’d I fuck that up?” laughed Roger.

“It’s the damn studio,” groaned Freddie. “We need, all of us, to go out.”

“I’m not going to one of your clubs, Fred,” said Roger.

“Like you wouldn’t fit in,” said Freddie.

“Watch it,” snapped Roger, too much bite too much sensitivity, too clear that Freddie hit a nerve. But it was an open secret now.

Roger could tell in the way John looked at him for weeks after that Jazz party that Freddie had given him every gory detail. And he didn’t mind, and he knew Freddie knew he didn’t mind. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about but it was something John ought to know at that point, better Freddie than him. All Roger really cared about was that everyone have the tact not to bring it up to him.

And he wasn’t sure of a lot. He wasn’t sure if Brian knew that Freddie and John knew. Didn’t know if they talked about it without him. Didn’t know what any of their opinions were on the whole matter, didn’t know if they even had one. But what he did know, and all he needed to know was he loved Dominque, and he loved Felix and that was enough.

“Well have fun at your pub or wherever you like but feel free to join if you change your mind,” said Freddie. He didn’t mean it, Roger knew. Freddie loved them but Roger knew he had a whole new sense of freedom in those clubs that he just couldn’t fully enjoy the few times Roger had gone along with them. Roger was the same way, sometimes they needed time away from each other, time with their other friends out to regroup.

But he didn’t feel like Munich was one of those times. He felt like Munich was a time for the four of them to huddle close and try to laugh off their bleak and miserable surroundings.

“What about you, Deaks? What’re your plans?”

“My plans?” he shrugged and clicked the mic on again. “Nothing special.”

Nothing special meant more coke, or women. More of his weird anger management. John had such an angry streak, drugs and drinking slowed him down for a bit but in the depression of the stone cold arms of Munich nothing helped all that much. Roger wanted it to be done and over, wanted the tour to start, wanted to go home and see his wife and son.

“Be careful, with your nothing special…please,” said Roger.

John just smiled with no real enthusiasm and failed to meet Roger’s eyes before leaving the booth.

“I hate Munich,” muttered Roger.

“It loves you,” replied Mack. Roger had almost forgotten he was in the booth to begin with. “Take the night, go cheer up.”

Roger sighed and left his headphone around his hi-hat. He slipped his sticks into their holster and stood, stretching tall to crack his back, though he never quite stretched hard enough for that. He shook his hands out as he checked around the kit to make sure nothing had come loose. It couldn’t have, nothing ever came loose, but more than he didn’t want to stay, he didn’t want to leave and either go back to the rented out flats they were staying in, or go out to clubs. Meaningless sex, with Dom at home, with Felix at home, and with his morale already through the floor, could only worsen his mood. But drinking alone in his rented room would do the same. So if he stayed in the studio, pretending to tinker with his kick drum, he didn’t have to choose.

“Rog, did Fred and John leave?” said Brian, popping his head in the recording studio.

“I think, yeah,” said Roger. “Sounded like they were about to anyway. It’s nearly eight, they’ve got places to be, people to meet.”

“Care to join them?” Brian crossed the room to him. “Might be good to meet someone new for the night. After hiding from John all day, I’m sort of itching for conversation.”

“I’m not in the mood, honestly,” said Roger.

“Roger Taylor, not in the mood to go out drinking, to pick up women. That’s a sign of the apocalypse,” teased Brian.

“So’s Queen making a disco album,” groaned Roger.

“You say that now, but when John adds more synth you’re silent.” Brian’s face was still smiling but his words were biting.

“I’m not in the mood to argue,” said Roger tiredly. He took a step towards the door but Brian, shyly and desperately blocked his path.

“I don’t either,” he assured. “Please, I’m dying for some conversation, this fucking studio is wearing me out. No clubs, let’s just have dinner or a few pints. Anything to get out of the studio and the suites.”

Roger, if he really thought about it, didn’t want to do either of those. So much of him was so tired. He wanted to go home and lie on Dominque and let her run his slim fingers through his hair until he fell asleep, until they both fell asleep. But she was miles away. So dinner with Brian would have to suffice.

“You’re buying.”

~~~

It’d been a few months since their last dinner alone. It wasn’t something that naturally occurred all that often but they were propping up more and more as John got wilder and Freddie fell more into Paul’s ways. Roger couldn’t say he minded getting to spend the odd time with Brian outside of the studio, but the reasons for it drove him mad. As if he could feel the band slipping out of his fingers as they all went their separate ways.

“You look far off,” said Brian, across from him at the table. “Stop thinking.”

“Stop thinking?” said Roger, almost no energy left.

“You’re thinking the same as me, I know it, but it’s all bollocks. The band’s not breaking up, our careers aren’t over and this city is not forever,” said Brian, his eyes quickly returning to the menu.

“How’d you know all that?” said Roger, leaning forward into Brian’s words.

“It’s just the city’s got us down, that sunlight baron studio. Even if this isn’t our best album, it’ll be great, and everyone’s in sour moods but we’ll snap out of it,” said Brian, his eyes never once leaving the same spot on the menu, clearly not reading but avoiding Roger’s eyes.

“I meant, how’d you know what I was thinking about?” said Roger. Brian looked up then, a smirk on his face.

“I know you pretty well, Rog,” said Brian.

“I suppose you do,” Brian cocked his head, “very well in fact,” said Roger, his eyes quickly averting to the entrees listed on the short menu. He could feel Brian watching him but didn’t have the strength to look up.

If he did he couldn’t be sure what he’d say, what he’d do. Roger didn’t have the energy to start a fight and divert their attention from the elephant in the room, so he just kept his head down and chose between the steak and the veal in silence. And in the silence of the back of the quiet restaurant, Roger couldn’t help hear every little started and forgotten word at the back of Brian’s throat. He wondered if Brian would continue with him down the dangerous path he’d stepped foot on or if he was searching for a way to change the subject. He didn’t know which he wanted more.

But he never got a chance to find out. The waiter surprised them both and they both gave their orders with flushed faces and muttered apologies that the waiter returned.

“Came out of nowhere he did,” laughed Brian.

“Honestly,” said Roger. “At my age he could’ve given me a heart attack.”

“_At your age_,” laughed Brian. “You’re thirty three.”

“That’s practically dead,” said Roger through a sip of his wine.

“You and your age fixation,” said Brian with a shake of his head. He looked at Roger for a moment, studied him almost, and clenched his jaw. Deep in thought as he swirled his wine glass against the fabric of the tablecloth. “Do you…”

“Do I what, Bri?” said Roger, a bit too eager.

“Do you remember, how I taught you to swim,” said Brian, a grin creeping up on his face. “I was just thinking about—You were so fixated on being twenty six at the time, as if there were an age limit on swimming.”

“That was justified too,” said Roger, trying to block out the more significant memories from that time, “I was much too old to be afraid of a swimming pool.”

“Being afraid of a scare-induced heart attack at thirty three is not justified, you’re still a young man,” Brian sipped his wine, a long swig.

“I don’t…” Roger eyed his throat as he sipped, hoping he wasn’t obvious, “I don’t feel so young. Being a father makes you feel old don’t you think?”

Brian shrugged. “I feel young. I feel like…” he sat back, “I feel about how I did five years ago. Nothing’s changed so much for me.”

“Nothing?” said Roger. “Chrissie, Jimmy. They’ve not…changed _anything_ for you?”

Brian gave a quick shake of his head. “Nothing at all.”

Roger looked at him, skeptical, disbelieving, unsure. “When Chrissie was pregnant…felt like everything_ had_ to change.”

“I was wrong,” said Brian, leaning in a bit. “I was scared.”

“Of Jimmy?” Roger leaned in too.

“Not of Jimmy. You know what of, Rog.” He hid his face behind another sip of wine. It was dangerous territory, talking to open like this. Even if this openness was behind layers of barely hidden suggestions. But Roger couldn’t help wanting him to go on. He put his wine glass back on the table. “I’m not scared now though.”

Roger thought about it for a moment. About leaning across the table and pulling Brian into a searing kiss and dragging him back to the flat, giggling up the elevator like school boys, stumbling into one of their suites and getting tangled up in each other the way they hadn’t done in four odd years.

He might’ve even done it had he not been interrupted by their starter salads arriving at the table. The tension, the desperate need fell to the wayside as Roger awkwardly cleared his setting for the plate and Brian did the same. The laughs between them were uncomfortable and they both stuffed the salad into their mouths as fast as they could, neither wanting to be the one to keep the conversation going. Not when it was in such uncharted territory.

But the salad ran out. The few times they made eye contact it was just shared blushes and strained smiles back and forth, both hoping the other would find something good to distract them with. Roger unsure if he should feed what Brian said, Brian unsure if he should’ve opened his mouth at all.

“S’cuse me s’cuse me,” said Roger to the waiter. “How much longer ’til our entrees arrive?”

“Another, twenty minutes no longer,” assured the waiter.

“I,” began Roger. Twenty minutes with Brian in the horrible silence might as well have been a death sentence. He turned to Brian, and locked eyes. “Bri how hungry are you?”

“I’m full,” said Brian, catching on, relief flooded his face.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said Roger to the waiter, “but I think we’ll just cancel dinner. We’ve had a long night.”

Roger and Brian waved away the apologies from the waiter, ensuring him that they were just full and hadn’t been offended in any way. Though the speed at which they collected their coats from the coat check and burst out the back door left a lot to be desired in terms of politeness. They stood out in the cold of Munich behind the restaurant, a familiar setting for them, and tried to ignore what they were both thinking of.

“Well,” said Roger. “I er…”

“Rog,” said Brian, his voice sounding heavy, needy even. Needy for something Roger couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give him.

“No no,” said Roger, waving his hands like a madman in front of Brian. “We can’t.”

“We can,” corrected Brian, “but…I guess we shouldn’t.”

“We’ve had a long streak you and I,” said Roger. He kicked a heel against the brick of the restaurant behind him. “Shouldn’t break it now.”

“You’re right.”

The silence between them was deafening. And all Roger could do was stare at Brian’s hurt expression and wonder if they were thinking the same thing. The setting wasn’t at all the same. It was London then, it was Munich now. It was a sloppy drunken kiss between friends then, it was nothing now. And though a lot had changed since then, their careers had taken off, they’d had their ups and mostly downs, and they’d both started families, Roger couldn’t help but remember the pure excitement he felt kissing Brian that night. Something he never dreamed he’d wanted until he took it.

“I miss you,” said Brian, his eyes on his feet.

“I miss you too,” said Roger. He pushed off the wall and shoved his hands into his jacket pocket. “But we’ve made our beds.”

“I wish—” began Brian.

“No point in that. Wishing. What we’ve got now is good, Brian. Kids, wives. Families.” Roger waited for Brian to meet his eyes and when he finally did, Roger nudged him, playfully, trying to knock the sadness out of him. “Come on lets head back to the home, you look like you could use a nightcap.”

The cold was bearable if they walked close, and neither made any mention of cabs or trains to get back. They trudged through the wet snow of Munich, bundled up as warm as they could be, and Roger thought of their poor nights in London doing the same. Before the band had any traction, before their bank accounts had any traction. When it was just the four of them, starving and pretending it was fun.

~~~

“You coming in?” said Roger as he unlocked his door.

“Is…” began Brian, “are you sure?”

“ ‘Course I’m sure, Bri.” He turned the lock. “I don’t know about you but, this city, this weather, it’s taken the life out of me. Just one friendly drink, we can control ourselves that long I’m sure.”

“Okay,” said Brian. “Okay,” repeated Brian, a bit more sure of himself this time. “You’re right, the weather, the quiet, it’s all starting to really get to me.”

Roger led Brian through the door and closed it behind him. “Honestly. Why we couldn’t just finish recording in Montreux last summer, I’ll never understand.”

“I guess this awful depression we’re all in is motivating us to work faster than the heat of France though.”

Brian made his way to the kitchenette in search for the drink he was promised. Roger fished out some Souther Comfort for the two of them and directed Brian to the glasses. He poured too much. It didn’t matter, they had nowhere to be. And they took their drinks and the bottle to the little couch. The flat was a studio, the kitchen on one wall, the bed on the other, the couch and coffee table on another. It was nice, it felt as homey as it could get with such a bleak circumstance, but it was cold. Roger was thankful to have it a little warmer with Brian next to him.

“Tell me, honestly. Do you think this album’s going to do well?” said Brian. “I know it won’t sink us but…”

“I don’t,” said Roger, sinking further into the couch. “But I think it’ll sound good. I think it’s not what people want from us, but it’s a good album. So far anyway, I haven’t heard everything John’s planning.”

“I know I shouldn’t,” Brian scooted a bit closer to him, “but I always get nervous when Freddie’s not in charge, at least when we’re not working off his vision. I know he’s very in to this music too but it’s not his music.”

“It is now,” said Roger.

“Alright then, I get nervous when we stray from Freddie’s original vision. That sense of poetic grandeur. All those fantastical lyrics and riffs he would write…seems a shame to waste him on _disco_.”

“You’re nostalgic for a phase in music that came and went,” sighed Roger. “We’re past it, but we gave it one hell of a record.”

“We did,” said Brian with a smirk. “That was my favourite album to record. Living with us all together at the farm. Recording where we lived, getting ideas in the dead of night and running down to the piano to try and sort them out. That was when I really felt like we’d done what we set out to do.”

“How rose tinted your memory is,” said Roger, taking another swig.

“What’s that mean?” scoffed Brian.

“The farm felt different to me. It was always a fight. After I pitched I’m In Love With My Car, you even fought me on the drums, as if you know a damn thing about them. I was constantly defending myself, it was exhausting.”

“Maybe we both remember it in extremes,” said Brian, he presses his shoulder to Roger’s. “But I know I had fun.”

“I did too, in between fights,” said Roger with a smirk. “Remember that morning you came in to me and Freddie recording Seaside and walked straight out without a word after you heard Freddie’s oboe impression?”

“God,” laughed Brian, “I thought you’d both lost it. Same way I feel about this album I felt about that song, it was _rubbish_.”

“At least it wasn’t a six minute experimental hellscape of a demonic nightmare _someone_ had,” teased Roger.

“Point taken.” Brian finished off his whiskey and poured a bit more in his and Roger’s empty glasses. “Even with all the infighting, at least it was summer.”

“I’d kill for a sunny day,” groaned Roger, I’m so tired of the fucking snow. “Remember at the farm we could fucking swim, _swim_ at_ night_ and be perfectly fine.”

“It was unseasonably warm that year but—”

“Who cares if it was unseasonable, it was _warm_. I’d kill for that right now.”

“I remember it was warm but it was also so damn muddy,” said Brian. “Humid and damp. That…that _night_ when I tried to catch up to you I was slipping and sliding all over the place. One false step and none of it would’ve happened I would’ve spent the whole night rinsing mud out of corduroy.”

“I don’t remember that, I remember the heat though. Got inside you on nights like that,” said Roger. He took another long swig of his whiskey. And he let the silence penetrate the room before breaking it. “Do you…ever wish that’s how you spent the night? Rinsing our your clothes and going to bed alone?”

Brian turned to look at Roger, Roger felt him move and did the same. He watched Brian’s eyes trail all over his face, his expression entirely unreadable.

“Not once,” said Brian. “That night…”

“Yeah…Neither do I,” said Roger while Brian’s words trailed off.

“I wish you hadn’t kicked me out,” said Brian.

Roger’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t kick you out, you just left me there.”

“Maybe…” said Brian. “I was so mixed up in those days, I’m sure I rewrote history like that.”

“You mixed up now?” said Roger.

Brian’s eyes got a bit wider, as they always did when Roger got too close. For a rock star he was such a shrinking violet. He shook his head no. Roger’s hand trembled a bit as it left his lap and reached across Brian’s flat stomach. “Do you mind?” said Roger, looking up at him with expectant eyes.

“No, no I—no I don’t mind—at all, no,” stammered Brian.

Roger could only grin. He left Brian’s side for a moment to leave his drink on the coffee table. And then his hands were on him again, trailing up his chest and rubbing circles into his hip, really feeling him like he hadn’t in awhile. In years.

“You’re still bony,” said Roger, resting his head on Brian’s shoulder, “still so skinny.”

“You’re not quite as thin as you were,” teased Brian.

“I could afford it,” replied Roger. His hand rested at Brian’s ribs while his lips pressed a kiss to his clothed collar bone. “Is this okay?” muttered Roger against Brian’s shirt collar.

“Yeah, that’s…good,” said Brian, a shake in his voice. “You know, I love you, Rog.”

“I didn’t know,” said Roger, still buried in Brian’s neck. The height of his own voice a surprise to his ears. “How could I know?”

“I guess I should’ve been more obvious,” said Brian weakly. “God knows you put yourself out there enough.”

“Loving me doesn’t change Chrissie and Jimmy,” said Roger, knowing better than to let himself get lost in the fantasy of being with Brian.

“It would. If you’d take me now, I’d get the divorce,” said Brian. “If you still love me.”

The whiskey prevented him from saying anything sensible, anything to stop where they both wanted the night to go. He kissed Brian’s chest again, slow and lazy, and mumbled, “I still love you.”

Roger moved up, stretching the shirt collar, pulling it back and pressing his lips to Brian’s bare skin. He paused and waited for Brian to stop him or shake him off before pressing another to the base of his neck. Another just under his ear, another down his jaw, until he met their lips. It’d been years, but it certainly didn’t feel like it.

Brian hummed and was quick to put an arm around Roger’s waist, tight. He pulled him in as much as he could. Roger stretched a leg over Brian’s, one step short of climbing in his lap. Brian grabbed Roger’s thigh draped across him and tried, desperately, to get him closer, to get more from him.

Roger let his hand trail down Brian’s chest, tugging at his shirt, playing with his belt, then running his hand firm and slow over Brian’s cock. Feeling him through the fabric of his trousers, and listening to him whine as he went.

“Rog,” stammered Brian in between breaths.

“I want you,” replied Roger, staring deep into his eyes. Brian stared back at him, dumbfounded, a little confused maybe.

And he said nothing. Just tugged on the zipper of Roger’s trousers, popped open the buttons and dipped his hand into Roger’s waistband. Playing with him in an uncoordinated way that had Roger bucking up for more. Roger returned the favour, freeing Brian’s cock from his trousers and stroking him with more purpose.

“Brian, Brian,” mumbled Roger against his lips.

“What, what’s wrong?” said Brian, breathless.

Roger felt he should remind him how great their home lives were. How they were hurting each other, damaging their friendship, threatening the band’s integrity and staying power. He should have said something along those lines, but instead he said, “the bed, Bri, the bed.”

He could practically see the shiver travel through Brian’s body.

“It’s okay,” whispered Roger as he pressed another kiss to his lips, “our secret.”

Roger stood, leaving the warmth of Brian’s lap to work on unbuttoning his shirt and kicking his shoes off as he made his way to the bed. Brian sat awkwardly at the edge of the bed, and shakily unbuttoned his shirt. Roger couldn’t help but be reminded of how bad Brian shook their first night together. And like their first night together, he put his hands over Brian’s and did the rest of the buttons himself.

“You’re still a virgin at heart,” said Roger, leaning down to kiss him, light and quick.

“It’s because it’s you,” said Brian.

Roger paused his unbuttoning for a moment to look at Brian, to see the blush across his cheeks, the tremor in his whole body and the excitement in his eyes. He took him in, pushed him back onto the bed, kissed him with the pent up desire of the last few years and grabbed and held whatever part of him he could. Brian’s hips, his waist, his thigh creeping up Roger’s side. He wanted it all.

They shed their clothes bit by bit, trying hard to keep the moments away from each other to a bare minimum. The feeling of Roger’s skin against Brian’s was too blissful to waste. He wanted every possible second of him. And he knew Brian felt the same. Roger pinned Brian first, and ground down against his poor aching cock, Brian flipped them again and did the same to Roger. Again and again, neither one willing to yield, both wanting to take in the other. Roger knew where this road ended, he’d been down it before at the farm. He held Brian’s wrists against the soft mattress under him and sighed.

“If I let you fuck me,” said Roger, “you’ve _got_ to come second this time.”

“Fuck, fine, okay—where’s the lube, Rog,” said Brian stumbling over his own words.

Roger found his lube and handed it off to Brian while he got situated with his legs around him. Roger could never tell what he liked more, fucking Brian or getting fucked by him. The tight heat Brian gave him was as irresistible as the deep pleasure he fucked into him.

He clutched his sheets when Brian fingered him. He muttered apologies when Roger winced but Roger waved them off.

“Fuck, it’s just been so long,” groaned Roger, low and gravelly.

“Like the first all over again,” said Brian. He curled his fingers in Roger and Roger arched up into the feeling. That deep, all encompassing pleasure that he just barely remembered from his other nights with Brian so many years ago.

Brian kept pressing where he knew Roger liked it and was gentle when he slowly but surely put his cock into him. Roger’s nails damn near drew blood from Brian’s bicep while the other dug into the sheets, threatening to rip them. Roger rocked his hips against Brian to let him know, to ask for more. He didn’t care about the pain or the burn, he just wanted to feel that intoxicating feeling again. And Brian gave it to him. He mashed his lips to Roger’s sloppily but passionately as he moved.

“Much better than Chrissie,” groaned Brian, his words choked and desperate.

Roger reached for any part of Brian he could as he got lost in the feeling of him. The deep, dull feeling of his cock moving so frantically in him. He stroked his own leaking erection, his hands shaking as he moved, slow and unsure.

“Rog,” whined Brian. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m gonna come. I can’t go any longer.”

“Come. Come, I want it,” said Roger. He reached up for him, and dug his heels in his back, pulled him in a bit deeper and held onto as he shivered and shook and pumped him full. Brian panted, and occasionally stopped to press kisses to Roger’s shoulders and neck. A slew of ‘fuck’s and ‘oh god Roger’s breaking up his sharp, laboured breaths.

“I’m sorry,” panted Brian. He brushed the hair from Roger’s sweaty forehead and grinned in embarrassment. “I was supposed to last a bit longer.”

“That’s okay,” said Roger. “It can be my turn, can’t it.”

Brian accepted the kiss Roger pressed to his lips and let his tongue slide against Roger’s as Roger rolled him onto his back. And he stayed pliant and needy as Roger opened him up and coaxed a few moans from him. And when Roger slid his cock into him with one effortless motion, a moan got lost in his throat.

“Like that?” said Roger with a cocky grin.

“Fuck,” was all Brian could manage.

“Much better than Dom,” said Roger with a deep, slow roll of his hips. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Rog,” sighed Brian. Roger remembered how Brian looked their last night together, and he always thought he imagined how angelic he looked with his curls splayed on the white sheets, and his cheeks red from excitement and shyness. But looking at him then, he knew his memories made no exaggeration, that Brian really was that much of a sight.

Roger grinned and left kisses along Brian’s neck and jaw as he fucked him. Deep and slow at first until Brian got used to the feeling. Then fast, hard, desperate for a release. Brian groaned and writhed underneath him as he moved, his cock dragging along his oversensitive walls that were still trying to come down from his orgasm moments before. Roger didn’t show mercy though. He rutted into him, chasing the orgasm he could feel building in the pit of his stomach as his lips lazily and ineffectively kissed Brian.

“Do it,” whined Brian, his voice and body shaking with overstimulation. “Come, Rog.”

Roger, too out of breath to respond, did as he was told and rolled his hips in Brian sloppily as he an orgasm wracked his body.

He peppered kisses along Brian’s face while he caught his breath. Brian reached up to brush the hair out of Roger’s eyes until he could speak again. Roger grinned down at him and slowly pulled out before flopping onto the empty bed space next to Brian.

And silence filled the room, the only thing breaking it was the sound of Roger’s panting. Last time they’d been this quiet, Roger remembered, Brian left him alone to wallow and wonder the whole night through. He couldn’t tell what Brian was thinking just yet, and almost didn’t want to know. Didn’t want bad news if he didn’t have to hear it, not yet, not now. So they laid in silence a few minutes more. Disturbed only by the quick, quiet movements of the two of them sinking under the covers. They wrapped around each other, and neither found any words they needed to add.

~~~

When Roger woke the next morning he was almost surprised to find Brian still wrapped tight in his arms. He figured he would’ve wriggled out of his hold in the night and disappeared off to his own room but there he was. Face calm with sleep, arms limp and useless around Roger’s waist. Roger ran a few fingers through his curls, getting caught a few times but not caring, until Brian’s eyes fluttered open.

“You’re still here,” said Brian.

“Of course I am,” said Roger with a laugh.

“All that happened didn’t it?” said Brian. His fingers began tracing little patterns into Roger’s hip. “So much for our nearly four year streak.”

“Mm.” Roger hadn’t wanted to bring that up. Hadn’t wanted to think about how their night together was technically a failure on both their accounts. “We can pretend.”

“What?” laughed Brian.

“You know, pretend it didn’t happen. Pretend we’ve still got our streak,” said Roger, one hand still playing with his curls.

“What about…last night,” said Brian, his eyes getting wider. “What about everything we said.”

“Said about what?” said Roger, eyeing Brian curiously.

“About…” Brian pulled Roger in a bit, “about us. About how we still love each other. All of that…”

“We were drunk. Bri,” said Roger, knowing that wasn’t true. Two or three whiskeys didn’t mean he was talking shite for the sake of a fuck, it meant he said what he’d been dying to say for years. “It’s too late. We have kids and wives. It’s just too late.”

“It doesn’t have to be, Rog,” Brian pulled him in closer. “I mean it, I’ll get a divorce. I want a divorce. I want to be with you. I’m ready now.”

Roger looked into his eyes, full of desperation and sincerity. But no amount of true feelings would fix the damage they’d done. “It’s not enough anymore. I wish it were but it’s too complicated. The band, the press, our wives our kids. Brian it’s all too much.”

Brian sat up and stared straight ahead. Roger reached a hand up to rest on his back but Brian shook him off. “You’re saying this to get back at me for rejecting you when Chrissie was pregnant. It’s so arbitrary, Roger. It wasn’t a good time then, it’s not a good time now but I don’t care.”

“Brian, please. We dug our graves too deep, it’s unfair to everyone if we don’t just lie in them.”

Brian didn’t listen to his words but instead shot out of the bed and collected his discarded clothes. He tugged them on haphazardly, not caring how anything fit.

“Brian,” sighed Roger as he sat up in bed and watched Brian hastily put his shoes on. He wanted to ask him to stay, to beg him not to go, but what good would that do. Just make them want each other more and that wasn’t an option, not anymore. Brian headed for the door and slammed it shut without another word.

~~~

“It’s technically proficient, Rog, but it’s got no _umph!_” said Freddie. Roger hated when Freddie gave notes on drumming that involved ‘more umph’ ‘more pop’ ‘more zing’ and so on. Over the years he figured out generally how to make him happy by deciphering Freddie’s strange code, but not in Munich.

It’d been a week, nearly two since he and Brian slept together. And though Brian looked miserable every day since, he got his work done. And thanks to that, they were all set to leave the following week. Which was music to all four of them. No one as much as Roger. He wanted to go home, see his son, see Dom, and pretend nothing ever happened. Pretend he felt nothing as he always claimed to these days.

“I need a break,” sighed Roger. “It’ll have more life in it if I take a break.”

Mack gave a thumbs up and headed out of the booth to take his own break. Roger stood and shook his hands out. Freddie eyed him through the glass. Something about his gaze felt off as he reached for the speaker button.

“Brian told me,” said Freddie.

“Fuck,” groaned Roger. “Fucking—_of course_ he did that fucking—”

“Don’t get mad at him,” interrupted Freddie. “I pressed him on why he’s been looking like he’s about to leap of a bridge the last week or so.”

“You and John have a nice chat about it then did you?” spat Roger. He threw his headphones around his hi-hat and threw back his stool as he stepped off the risers. Freddie tried to say something over the tannoy but Roger wasn’t listening. He flung the recording booth door open and let it slam behind him.

“Roger!” snapped Freddie when he caught up to him. His voiced sounded like that of a disappointed mother.

“Fred! I don’t want to talk about it!” said Roger, too loud and too forceful.

“You’re making a mistake!” said Freddie, matching his energy.

“That’s fucking rich coming from _you!_” said Roger. “You and your fucking dictator of boyfriend! You dress the same you act the same, yes that’s so much healthier than me and Dom!”

“Oh fuck you! Fuck you! Ruin your life see if I fucking care you ungrateful son of a bitch!” screamed Freddie. Roger didn’t care to respond, knowing he’d only say something he regretted.

He stormed out the back door into the cold air of the back lot. His hands shook from the anger, the stress, and the freezing temperature as he rifled through his pockets for his carton of cigarettes. He was glad for the little warmth the lighter provided him, and the bit of calm it provided him taking that first drag.

~~~

**1982**

**London**

As soon as the album was finished. The tour prep began. Just as stressful as it always was but Roger found some comfort in being home, being able to see his son every day. Being able to get away from the others. Brian hadn’t spoken to him since, no words outside of civil conversation that was _absolutely necessary_ for their work and nothing else. Freddie had mended their fences. They apologised to each other and moved on, but Freddie made it very clear he was still upset with the decision Roger made. The decision to stay with Dom, to stay together as a family.

John was his only friend left. Roger hung around him in the two odd weeks following their return from Munich. Band lunches quickly became split between Brian and Freddie, and Roger and John. Roger knew John much preferred getting work done early and going home by three, but he stuck around to have a meal every once in a while with Roger. Roger’s barely contained gratitude showed itself by paying for all of their food and drinks each time.

“Ronnie wants to come on this tour,” said John.

“Will you let her?” said Roger.

“I want her to come. I think I’ll be less…I won’t be wound so tightly if she’s there with me. I’m getting tired of all the different women,” said John with a sheepish grin.

“I know what you mean,” said Roger. “I missed Dom on the last tour so badly, but I don’t know if she’ll take the year off to come with.”

“Roger,” said John, putting his drink down with a strange sense of finality, “you’ve got a short fuse and so do I so I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to cause a fuss but…I think you’re making a mistake.”

“Not you too.” Roger sat back in his seat, already tired of the conversation.

“I’m just…letting you know how I feel. I don’t care what you do but you’re throwing something good away,” said John.

“What about Dom? Is she not good enough?” spat Roger.

“Is she? For you?” said John, sincere and calm.

“Yes,” said Roger, knowing it was a lie.

“Is she?” repeated John. Roger said nothing, focusing on his food instead. “I know you think it’s too late with your kids, and maybe it would’ve been more ideal if this happened before anyone got married but there’s a difference between this being difficult and being past the point of no return.”

“What do you fuckers want from me?” groaned Roger. “Want me to go home tell Dom I’m a queer in love with Brian and beg for joint custody of Felix?”

“Sure,” said John.

“You make it sound so fucking easy,” said Roger.

“I didn’t say it’s easy, I said it’s best. It’s up to you.”

“I’m not running off with him and abandoning my son—” began Roger.

“Who said anything about abandonment, Rog? Admit it you’re creating these huge issues because you’re afraid to just pull the trigger and do it,” said John, like a punch to the gut.

“I wanted to pull the trigger years ago and he—”

“So what. Do you want to be happy?” John stared at him, the question rhetorical but seemingly waiting for an answer. “It’s not about getting even because he told you ‘no’ once. You know what his answer will be so why are you waiting, Rog?”

A long silence settled in. The only sound coming from the other diners. Roger was deep in thought and John knew better than to disturb him.

On some level Roger knew John was right. That he’d spend a lot of time resenting Dom, hating Brian, hating himself if he kept on like this. Eleven years and his feelings never changed, that was a good sign they never would. And as much as Roger wished he could continue on with his normal nuclear life, a wife and son, he knew he’d never be satisfied with it. No matter how badly he tried to be, he’d never find the fulfillment he found just being close to Brian.

“You’re paying today,” said Roger after several minutes of ignoring John.

~~~

That night he laid awake next to Dom, staring at the ceiling and wondering if he would really do it. Really leave her for Brian of all people. It sounded so ridiculous on paper. Him and Brian, his friend since university, running away together. He knew John was right, that every excuse he came up with stay with Dom was just him trying to take a shot at Brian for hurting him, him running away from the ordeal it would be to be with him publicly. He was afraid to tell his sister and mum, afraid to tell Dom even. Afraid that he’d go through the trouble of confessing this horrible secret to everyone only to have it fall apart down the line when Brian decided he’d had enough.

But maybe it was worth it. Even in the worst case scenario, a little moment in time with Brian was better than none. So he climbed out of bed and slunk out of the bedroom, down the hall and down the steps into the kitchen, the farthest phone from his and Dom’s room. And he dialed Brian’s number.

“Hello?” said Brian’s voice.

“Hey, Bri, it’s me,” said Roger.

“Oh.” Brian let the silence sit for a moment. Roger thought he might break it, might ask if the phone woke Chrissie or something equally mundane but no words came out. “What’d you need, Rog, it’s nearly midnight.”

“Nearly midnight,” laughed Roger, his heart pounding. “Years ago that would be early to us, we’ve gotten so old.”

“I suppose,” said Brian. “What’d you need.”

“I…Can we meet, for a drink?” said Roger.

“Now?”

“Yeah, now. Wherever you want, I just…could use a drink. With you.”

Brian laughed just a bit. Roger hadn’t heard that laugh in weeks. “Are you high?”

“No,” said Roger, laughing only to reassure Brian, “not high. Anywhere you like.”

“Not many places we won’t be recognised, Rog,” said Brian. “Not in the mood to be mobbed.”

“Let’s go to that old student pub. The one we used to go to when—”

“We were students?” said Brian. “They’ve got our picture up in there.”

“Let’s just go, maybe it’ll be tame, it’s a fucking Tuesday night, how packed can it be?”

“What’s all this about, Rog?”

“I’ll tell you there. I’ll leave in the next ten, can you make that?” said Roger.

“Sure, sure, I can make that.” Brian’s tone sounded like he was placating a child but Roger didn’t care.

“Great, I’ll see you then, I’ll hold the table if there is one.”

“Alright, see you then,” said Brian with a laugh before he slammed the receiver down. Roger’s hands shook as he rifled through the laundry to find some clean clothes without disturbing Dom. He buttoned his shirt all wrong and put his jacket on inside out before he made it out to his car.

~~~

He wore his glasses, his regular glasses. Dom always said they changed his face entirely in a way his sunglasses didn’t. He figured he wouldn’t be recognised with them on and so far, he was right. He ordered two pints and held a booth in the back corner with ease, though part of that might’ve been that the pub was full of people too focused on each other to notice someone Roger’s age wander in.

He took two big gulps of his drink, wondering if Brian would even show up, just before he saw him and his big hair walk through the door. Brian was more distinctive than Roger. Roger sat behind a big set of drums for a living and Brian stood next to the greatest performer in their lifetimes with hair that came five inches off his head. People noticed when he walked in, but Brian’s clever disguise of sunglasses in the dead of night and angrily pushing past people seemed to work.

He slid into the booth and gave Roger a small, insincere smile before sipping the pint Roger ordered. “So what’s the about Rog? Quitting the band?”

“What?” scoffed Roger. “No, obviously not.”

“There’s nothing obvious about it, you sounded so serious over the phone,” said Brian.

“It’s nothing to do with the band,” said Roger. “I just…I…”

“You?” said Brian, an awkward smile on his face as he prompted Roger.

“I…” began Roger. “I.”

“Rog, what the hell’s going on?”

Roger, looked past Brian, trying to form an entire sentence before he attempted to speak again when he saw whispers among the crowd in the pub. A few people trying to subtly point, a couple of nudges here and there.

“Let’s go outside,” said Roger, “we’ve been spotted.”

“Rog—no just tell me what the fuck’s going on,” said Brian, quiet but forceful, not wanting to draw any more attention to them.

“Please,” said Roger, letting all the desperation in his voice show through, “come outside, and I’ll tell you.”

“Alright…Alright,” repeated Brian with a bit more sympathy. “Let’s go then.”

They hurried out the back entrance, hoping not to have to stop and explain to any staff why they needed it. Roger held the door and shut it behind Brian. Mid April wasn’t meant to be cold but the stone of the buildings and the night gave the air a certain chill that had Roger crossing his arms tight over his chest. Brian did the same thing and kicked his feet a bit to keep them moving, to keep some kind of the warmth from the inside.

“Tell me, Rog, the suspense is awful,” said Brian, his hands forcing themselves deep into his pockets.

“I, Brian, I,” began Roger. “Fuck it. I love you.”

“I know,” said Brian flatly, unamused. “You already told me that, Rog.”

“I know I did, but this time I mean that…that I want you to divorce Chrissie, and I want to split with Dom.” Roger looked up at Brian waiting for a reaction, but his face remained unreadable. So he just kept talking, to fill the silence. “I…I know I should’ve just said that weeks ago, but in all fairness you should’ve said it years ago. I…I’m going to be happiest with you, and I don’t care how much trouble it’s going to be getting there anymore. I don’t care that it’ll be a huge fucking mess for everyone we know, I want you.”

Brian just stared, blinking, trying to form words.

“For fuck’s sake, spit it out, yes or no,” said Roger.

“I—yes, obviously yes.” Brian cracked a smile that spread quickly across his face. “Yes.”

Roger, pausing his shivering and shaking to sit in the cold and take it in for a moment. Once the moment passed he took a step into Brian, and rested a hand on his hip, and the other on his back. “Lean down, I can’t quite reach.”

Brian did, his big saucer eyes blinking at him as he leant into Roger’s lips. Roger had kissed him before, many times, each more memorable than the last. But there and then was the first time he felt he’d done it right. The first time he felt relaxed and unafraid, not scared of himself not scared of Brian. Safe.


	8. 1984 - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Here it is! The epilogue! I'm so thankful for everyone getting so invested in this story, I can't believe anyone read this all the way through but thank you so much for your lovely comments they really keep me inspired and though I can't respond to them all I do read and reread every single one!! Thank you all again and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well as the first chapter of my next fic (though the pairing is still undecided so anyone voicing their preferences are welcome!!) <<333 I hope you enjoy and please comment if you do!

** 1984 **

It fell into place, how it always should’ve been. Dominque took the news as well as she could, and Chrissie did her best with it. It was rocky and tumultuous, getting their lives split up and redistributed a bit differently, but it ended with calm. They got a house together, one with a yard big enough for their sons and daughter. They traded days with Dom and Chrissie and when the kids were away with their mothers, they called them both all wish them goodnight.

And they missed having their kids all to themselves, and they didn’t enjoy telling them the bad news in the first place. But as time went on it got less daunting, more calm. They spent more time with Dom and Chrissie all together, more time with kids all together in the privacy of their estate, shielded by their acres and fences where no reporters could bombard them with questions about how they lived, why they lived together.

Until they decided, they ought just tell the press.

The idea came about while they recorded. Something offhand Jimmy said while shadowing the two of them around the sound booth and bothering Freddie with as many prying questions about piano playing as he could. He mentioned his ‘dads’, and quickly shut himself up. Embarrassed. Guilty even for having mentioned it outside of their safe house. Freddie brushed it off with ease but Roger knew he couldn’t stand to see him do that again. And if he didn’t want their kids to be embarrassed or ashamed, the two of them had to make the first move towards that which was announcing it before they were found out and pray the press had an ounce of humanity while reporting it.

ALL THE QUEENS MEN

Drummer **Roger Taylor**, and guitarist **Brian May**, two members of the British rock band _Queen_ issued a statement last week that revealed the two as a romantic couple. As of now, the reaction from their fanbase is extremely polarising and has the potential to lead to a drop in their impending album’s sale, set to release next month. No further statement has come from either the band’s managers nor the record label itself, however some have turned out in opposition of the decision. Fans have been seen outside an old studio used by the band spray-painting various inflammatory graffiti on the building’s exposed wall. More pp. 3A  
  
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“Don’t read it,” sighed Freddie. “It’ll only upset you more.”

“How can I not read this,” groaned Roger. Their last day in the studio was always a celebration, and it was still one but with a considerable damper. “We never should’ve issued that statement—”

“Don’t start with that.” Freddie slid him the cup of tea he made for himself and sat across from him in their break room. “It wasn’t an easy decision to make and I commend you for that, Rog, you_ both_, I really do.”

“You won’t be commending us when the album tanks,” said Roger tiredly.

“People will get over it,” said Freddie.

“Will they? Or will they keep spray painting ‘die fags’ on the wall of our old studio?”

Freddie sat back in his chair. “I_ told_ you not to go look at that.”

“Couldn’t help it.”

“What’re we all talking about,” said John as he meandered into their small break room, Brian trailing behind him. He spotted the newspaper and Roger’s solemn face and quickly added, “never mind.”

“Catchy headline,” said Brian. “Points for that.”

“That’s it!” Freddie snatched the gossip column from Roger’s hands as Brian leaned down to read it. Roger reached for it back but Freddie backed his chair up just in time. And without a second’s hesitation he ripped it in half, then fourths, then eighths. “No more!”

“Fred,” sighed Brian, a hand still on Roger’s shoulder. “You can’t rip every paper up.”

“Sure I can,” said Freddie. He tossed the torn bits of paper in the bin with a wide grin that Roger appreciated.

“Well you can’t stop people spray painting ‘God’s punishing your kind’ on our studio can you?” said Brian with a mirthless laugh.

“You saw that?” said John. “I specifically said not to drive by it!”

“You saw it too?” said Roger, turning to look up at Brian. “I said we shouldn’t go look—”

“You’re one to talk, you drove by it as well,” said Freddie.

“What?” said Brian to Roger. “We said we wouldn’t drive by it—”

“Rog—” said John, “you swore up and down you weren’t going to—”

“We’re talking in circles!” interrupted Freddie. “We all promised each other we wouldn’t go see all the horrible things they’d written, and we all went and saw it. But it’s just a bit of paint, the owner of the studio’s clearing it off soon enough.”

“I suppose,” said Roger. He scratched at a scuff in the table, a little rip in the linoleum that covered the top. All those years making music, all that money, and their break room at their studio still had scuffed up linoleum tables. All that hard work, all that dedication and commitment and they still had scuffed, cheap tables. Years upon years of, “working for these fucking people, years of it, and they fucking, they do this they fucking—”

“Don’t work yourself up,” said John. “It’ll blow over.”

“Maybe,” said Roger. “If this effects album sales I can make the difference up—”

“Roger,” laughed Freddie. “You’re not paying a gay tax on the album. Lord knows I never did.”

“You never made a statement,” said Roger tiredly. “The ambiguity only drove up sales. This is concrete this is me and Brian begging for a bit of reprieve from reporters trying to get the truth out of us and having it thrown in our faces.”

“For a week,” said Freddie. His voice soothing as he reached across the table for Roger’s wrist. Brian took the seat next to Roger and Freddie made a grand gesture of taking Brian’s hand as well which earned him a snigger from John. “This will pass, and we’ll all be better off for it.”

Roger wanted to mouth off and ask Freddie, if it was so easy, why he hadn’t told the press about himself. But he knew it was a cheap shot. Freddie had his reasons for being mostly private, and Roger and Brian had their own for being public. But part of him did wish that Freddie had done this first and paved the way for them a bit. It was a selfish desire that he didn’t dare communicate but it was present nonetheless.

“Alright enough with all this,” said John. “We’ve finished another album, I think we ought to celebrate that.”

“Dinner? Drinks? Big party?” said Freddie. “I’m partial to a big party.”

“We can do the party later, let’s do dinner tonight,” said John. “At very least drinks.”

“You boys in?” said Freddie.

Roger looked to Brian, and though on the surface he wanted to go back to his and Brian’s house and pretend to be anonymous, much deeper he wanted to let the ordeal roll off his shoulders, wanted to celebrate with his friends and not mind the looks he got in the restaurant.

“We’re in.”

~~~

“I’m glad we went,” said Brian in the passenger seat. Roger smiled weakly and reached a hand over to hold Brian’s thigh.

Dinner was fun, talking with Freddie and John, telling their stories a bit too loud, laughing too hard at each other’s jokes. That was fun. Having the waiter recoil when he touched Brian’s hand by mistake, having the other patrons stare at them like they were pariahs was tiring. Exhausting even. Freddie knew how they felt to a degree as his secret was a fairly open one. He tried to reassure them that they were all getting stares, they were rock stars after all. But the sneering, the whispering, the looks on the people’s faces weren’t that of shy admiration.

They put it out of their heads in the restaurant but as soon as they found their car it was back at the forefront of their minds.

“I don’t regret it,” said Brian. “I think making the statement was the right way to go, getting ahead of the story was—”

“I don’t regret it either,” said Roger. Though on some level he did.

They agreed they had to do it. They had to stop living in secret, for their own sakes. For the kids’ sake. Hell even for Chrissie and Dom’s sakes. Everyone could rest easier if they weren’t on eggshells about the truth, weren’t lying to reporters about their living situations and parenting situations. And Roger knew it would be hard but he hadn’t expected it to wipe him out the way it had.

They slumped into their house, dropping keys and turning on lights as they meandered for the phone. They called Chrissie first, and said hellos and goodnights to Jimmy and Louisa who was up far too late already. Then they called Dom and said goodnight to to Felix who sounded half asleep already.

They strategically planned the release of their statement to the press to fall on a week where the kids were with their mothers. Less stress for them, fewer reporters yelling at their fathers, less reporters trying to coax information out of them through the gates. It made the most sense but Roger, after hearing poor Felix’s tired voice, wanted nothing more than to curl up with the three of them and stay home for a month or two.

“He made me let him stay up to hear you two,” said Dom. “He’s so stubborn. I suppose he gets that from you Rog.”

“Don’t blame me for that, you’re stubborn yourself,” said Roger.

“How was everything today? The albums done isn’t it?”

“It’s done,” said Brian. “Finally over.”

“Not excited about it are we?” said Dom with a cheeky grin Roger could almost see.

“We’ll be more excited if it doesn’t flop or get boycotted,” said Roger with a laugh, hoping to disguise the concern in his voice.

“Flop or not, I’m sure it’s wonderful,” said Dom with a bit more enthusiasm than either of them could muster for their work.

“I suppose,” said Brian, mostly to himself. “G’night Dom, I want the first shower.”

Brian kissed Roger’s head before huffing up the stairs in the hazy darkness of their house.

“He alright?” said Dom.

“He’s fine, we’re fine,” said Roger. “This has just…been a huge process hasn’t it. Longest week of my fuckin’ life so far.”

“I know it can’t be easy but it’ll pass,” said Dom.

“That’s what everyone keeps saying. It’ll pass. But I’m sure it’s got to get worse here soon. If it passes it’ll be months, years even before we’re back to where we were in the public eye,” sighed Roger. “Maybe Fred has the right idea in just keeping his fuckin’ mouth shut.”

“You did it for us,” said Dom. “Felix, Jimmy, Louisa, even Chrissie and I. It’s not good for us all to live in such secret. And maybe it’s a bit easier for Freddie with no children but it wasn’t going to last with us. You can’t raise children in secret, Roger. And we’ve all got enough. You’re still getting paid off your other albums, what’s it matter if this one doesn’t sell like you hoped.”

Roger nestled into the receiver, trying to get as much comfort out of her words as possible. One of the many things he loved about her was her humility and perspective that Roger so often lacked. “You don’t think we’re embarrassing everyone for no reason? Don’t think the kids’ll get called names later on?”

“You want to know what I think?” said Dom, her voice singsongy and quiet.

Roger grinned a sleepy grin and whispered, “yes.”

“I think the kids love you both, and no amount of name calling could ever change that. And I think the older they get the more they’ll realise what a brave thing you did for them. You showed them how to proud of who they are.” Dom hummed, something Roger remembered fondly from their time together. “The shock will wear off. You were never one to lead a private life, Rog, and now you’re doing it authentically.”

“I do love you, Dom,” said Roger.

“I love you too. Go take care of Brian, I’m sure he’s thinking himself in circles,” said Dom with a laugh.

They said their goodnights and Roger found Brian in their room, still damp with his pyjamas stuck to his skin and his curls flat from the water, laid on the bed, half asleep and getting drowsier by the second. Roger shut their door and shed his clothes before climbing up on the bed with him. Kissing his shoulder and jaw and trying to run his fingers through the nest of wet curls. Brian leaned into each and every one of his touches. Nothing was said and nothing needed to be said. They wrapped themselves up in each other and fell asleep hoping the next day wouldn’t be as draining.

~~~

The weeks came and went. And they all promised they wouldn’t look at the graffiti, wouldn’t listen to what was shouted at them all on the street, wouldn’t pay attention to what was printed or pay any mind to the photographers. But they all did. It got under their skin, got inside them and wore them all down. It was lessening maybe, probably, and when the album finally came out the attention shifted. They had a release party that gave them a bit of legroom to let loose as well.

And when the four of them sat to be interviewed over their new album, Roger felt a strange sense of calm in knowing it was about the music. He was ready to tell the interviewer how he came up with Radio Ga Ga, ready to hear John use his few words to describe I Want To Break Free, wanted to spend time on It’s A Hard Life and how they’d really written that one as a team.

“So, are there any surprises on this album?” said the interviewer. Roger could practically feel Freddie trying not to roll his eyes at that effete question.

“I do—Yes,” said Freddie. “I think every new album’s got it’s surprises. We won’t give them away but I think we’ve got a lot of new sounds in there.”

Diplomatic as usual. Roger tuned out while Brian added on to that a rephrasing of Freddie’s original statement with a few bigger words thrown about, hoping to make them sound less like four friends making music they liked and more like four professional musicians who knew quite a bit.

“And have the band dynamics changed at all?” asked the interviewer.

The four of them looked at each other a bit confused and shook their heads.

“We’re a bit older,” said Brian. “We’re more invested in family life than we were before but that hasn’t effected our music.”

“Right, of course, but I meant with the uh,” the interviewer gestured between Roger and Brian on separate ends of the couch. “Does that not cause issue within the band? To have two husbands against two—”

“No,” said Freddie flatly.

“We’re all used to each other,” said John. John hated to jump into interviews, he only spoke if spoken to, so it meant something to hear him cover for them.

“Right,” said the interviewer. “Right. So do you think the announcement of the relationship here will effect the fans and their eagerness to continue investing in your albums?”

“I,” said Brian, his words getting lost somewhere in this throat.

“Fuck ‘em,” said Freddie, just barely covering the irritation that was so clear in his body language. “If fans can’t move past this to listen to our music then I hope they don’t! We won’t be replacing our drummer and guitarist anytime soon so there’s not much to say here really.”

“And you all feel that way?” said the interviewer. His eyes moved from John to Brian, to Roger. Where they stayed, waiting for a response, waiting for something inflammatory he could print later along with Freddie telling their fanbase to fuck off. Roger didn’t want another quote from him being thrown from sensationalist paper to sensationalist paper. And yet.

“Yeah, I think we do all agree,” said Roger shifting forward in his chair. “Nothing’s changing on account of a bunch of bigots, if they want music without faggots they can find a new band to follow, we certainly aren’t going to miss them.”

Roger saw Miami cringe behind the camera. And though he wanted to say more, wanted to yell and throw a tantrum and break a few pieces of expensive equipment along the way, he bit his tongue. Telling their fans to fuck off wasn’t going to get them anywhere in a promotional interview, no matter how strong Roger felt it was the truth.

“Can we move on?” said Miami’s monotone voice behind the camera.

“John as a devout Catholic, how do you feel about this news?” said the interviewer.

“Come on,” said John with an awkward laugh.

“_The album_,” interrupted Freddie, “is out now. It’s got some of our best on it, in my opinion. I think the fans will agree, we’ve had a lot of fun writing this one and I think it shows in the music itself.”

“John you haven’t answered—“ began the interviewer.

“I haven’t and I won’t,” said John quickly.

“The singles off this record—” said Brian, hoping to get them back on course.

“So is that silence an indication of your feelings? That perhaps you’re not as on board with the idea—”

“Can we leave?” said Freddie, his eyes on Miami.

“Of course I’m on board ‘with the idea’,” spat John.

“John it’s fine,” snapped Roger, not wanting anyone to cause a scene on his and Brian’s accounts.

“I would say,” began John, his voice slowly gaining the bite it had when they argued in the studio, “to be offended by something this trivial in this day an age is fucking ridiculous. You asking us about this is fucking ridiculous, you know we’ve put out a record don’t you? You can read can’t you? You were sent here to ask us about our new music not stroke your cock to something so minor in our personal lives. You dumb fucking twat—”

“You can go,” said Miami quickly. “You can go.”

Freddie wasn’t always the most levelheaded with the press but he was as he ushered them all out and gave a little wave to the interviewer as Miami held the door open for them. He shut the door with a wince.

“Sorry boys,” said Miami, righting his suit, a nervous tick Roger’d noticed over the years. “I was sure he was warned not to—”

“It’s alright,” said Roger, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Can’t control what these bullshit journalists say,” said Brian with a grin.

“Still,” groaned Miami. “I don’t know if we can stop this one going to air.”

“Who cares,” said Freddie with a laugh. “We meant what we said, let ‘em run it all day and night if they like.”

“You two alright with that?” said Miami to Brian and Roger.

Brian shrugged with his hands deep in his jacket pockets. Freddie was right, they meant what they said. But after so much attention being put on their private lives, it would’ve been nice to have an interview about their fucking music. Just a ten minute discussion about what was on the fucking album but it, of course, devolved into gossip.

“It’s fine,” said Roger. “You can’t pull it anyway, let it run.”

“I can try and get it pulled—” began Miami but Roger waved the idea away.

“It’ll just cause more of a fuss if we cover it up. Let it run.”

~~~

Roger tied his tie three times, no four, and it kept coming out all wrong. His focus was on the TV in his bedroom that played their interview bit by bit, censoring a few things here and there and stopping for the anchors to comment on. He didn’t mind them pulling apart his words, didn’t mind the names they called him for his remarks. Didn’t mind reporters calling him a ‘bitchy queen’ or referring to the spat as a ‘cat fight’, or even the disparaging way the reporters would utter the word ‘husband’. He watched it and felt numb, detached with a faint sense of fear.

“Rog, you already know what you said,” said Brian as he flicked the telly off. “If we’re later for dinner than Freddie is we’ll be shot.”

“Sorry, I,” Roger groaned. He didn’t need to finish the thought for Brian to understand. Brian’s gentle hands untied Roger’s wonky windsor knot and tried it again for him.

“I love you, Roger,” said Brian.

“I love you too,” said Roger. Those were the only words of comfort they could offer each other. There were no guarantees about how people would react, whether or not it would blow over, how it would effect their careers, how it would effect the kids. But that was for certain.

“You look nice,” said Brian as he finished off Roger’s tie. He threaded his hands behind Roger’s back, pulled him in closer, and leant down to kiss him. Lightly at first, more desperate as he went on.

Roger pulled away. “Save it for after dinner, we don’t have time.”

“I think we have time,” said Brian with a grin.

Roger eyed him, trying to gauge how serious he was, before he clambered for his belt. Brian did the same, both giggling as they went. They’d be late and Freddie would scold them and John would arrive hours before anyone else, but they didn’t care. They threw each other on the bed and wrinkled up their clothes trying to get closer. Brian still hissed every time Roger sank into him, and every time it made Roger that much more eager.

It added no less than thirty minutes onto their arrival time but they couldn’t find it in themselves to care. They found themselves smiling, laughing, pausing their attempts to get dressed for another lingering kiss.

“Brian?” said Roger, his lips ghosting against Brian’s as they tried to button their shirts. “Are you my husband?”

“What?” laughed Brian.

“The press they keep calling you my husband,” said Roger, a bit quieter. “I know they mean it in an awful mocking way but still.”

“Does it bother you?” Brian pulled away just enough to retie Roger’s tie for him.

“Does it bother _you?_” said Roger.

“God we sound like we did all those years ago, tiptoeing around it not wanting to be the first to say _anything_,” teased Brian. Which was easy for Brian to say since for the most part he wasn’t on the receiving end of the constant rejection. Brian ran his fingers through Roger’s hair, soft and slow. “It doesn’t bother me. I’d like to be your husband.”

“And I’d like to be yours,” said Roger, a grin spread across his face. “God, I should’ve got you a ring or something.”

“We still have time, I want a wedding band,” said Brian. “Can you imagine the headline when we’re seen in them.”

“It’ll be well worth it,” said Roger quietly. He pulled Brian in for one more kiss before they really had to leave.

~~~

Getting to the restaurant was a process. With the interview still fresh in everyone’s memory, the simple act of holding Brian’s hand became nearly insurmountable. They were both glad to be ushered into the relative safety of the restaurant where the other patrons stared but in a quiet way, in a way that they could all ignore for the most part. And though the dinner was to celebrate their album decidedly not tanking, the champers still felt premature.

Like they were jinxing it, like soon the public would realise they were truly too disgusted with Roger and Brian to continue with their music. But he drank the champagne anyway and ate the steak he ordered with equal vigor while Brian subtly reminded him how bad red meat was for him.

“You know,” began Roger, his wine glass swirling in his hand, “even if the album tanks I’m glad I said what I did in the interview. I’ll make up the difference in everyone’s paychecks for it later but—”

“Oh please,” said John. “If anyone did any real damage it was me.”

“Thank you for that,” said Brian. “Don’t think we said it at the time but…”

Brian’s words trailed off as John waved away the gratitude. “It was entirely selfish, I wanted to talk about my new song,” said John with a humble grin.

“You’ve got to stop being surprised by us intervening,” said Freddie. “We’re your family we’re not going to let some bitchy little interviewer get the best of you.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune if our fanbase keeps dwindling,” said Roger.

“It’s not dwindling,” said Freddie with an eye roll. “And even if it was—I can’t speak for John but if the simple fact that you two are together tanked our career…I wouldn’t want it anyway.”

“Seconded,” said John. “If the three of you being gay get the entire fanbase down to a couple thousand then, honestly, I’m embarrassed to have been successful in the first place.”

“Well said,” said Freddie.

Roger didn’t know how to apologise for the trouble they were going through, he knew neither of them would accept it. Roger knew he’d do the same for the two of them if necessary and that this was par for the course in their friendships but he still couldn’t shake the guilt of the staring and the bombardment of reporters asking for salacious details. It was a lot of new nuisances and pressures that Roger couldn’t ever really pay them back for and an unaccepted apology wouldn’t help.

“Thank you,” said Roger, his voice not concealing how worn out he was. “Thank you both for doing this for us.”

“Don’t get sappy on us,” said Freddie.

“He’s right, we’ve been hanging on by a thread. You two’ve really—” began Brian.

“Ah!” snapped Freddie. “No thank yous, no apologies. This is what friends do. This whole mess being in the public eye rather than between a few warring family members doesn’t change the fact that we shouldn’t be rewarded for doing it. And should I ever decide to declare anything, I’m sure you’ll catch me as well.”

Roger wanted to leap across the table and hug him. It’d been a long road between the two of them. A lot of repressing and confessing and finding comfort in each other to have it tested only to come out stronger. He couldn’t think of a way to tell him how grateful he was to have found him in the pub all those years ago and to have sold clothes with him, starved with him, succeeded with him. And though neither he, nor Brian, could find the words to thank him, Freddie seemed to know already.

“And if I,” John cleared his throat, “ever decided to declare anything as well, I’m sure you two would support me.”

“Don’t toy with me, Deaks, I’ve been waiting on that confession for a decade now,” teased Freddie which had them all in stitches.

~~~

Brian stayed sober for them and let Roger drink a few, four or five, glasses of the champagne as they four of them got to reminiscing. They said their goodbyes to each other before leaving the safety of the restaurant and entering the chaos of the swarming reporters. Roger hated when Brian drove usually. He went too slow, too cautious, and turned the radio down until they were further out from the city. But when he covered Brian’s hand on the gearshift with his own, he found he didn’t pay his elderly driving any mind.

Being more sober made Brian more tired. He said quick goodnights to the kids and left Roger chatting away with Dominique before slinking up to their bedroom.

“What did John call the reporter at the end where it’s censored?” said Dominique.

“A fucking twat,” said Roger with a little laugh.

“I know you’ve told me he can have a temper but I didn’t know it could be so entertaining,” said Dom.

“It usually isn’t but when you’re on the right side of it,” said Roger, the thought never quite finishing.

“He’s got the right idea,” Dom yawned. “Be obnoxious about it, loud about it. Fuck everyone else, you’re the fucking band, if they’re so scandalised by the two of you they can fuck off and make their own music.”

“I do love it when you swear,” said Roger.

“It’s because I’m passionate,” said Dom. “Be as gay as you can, don’t let any fan be mistaken about who you are, you’ve got to weed out the fucking, the…”

Her words trailed off as sleep started to get the better of her.

“Dom, it’s late. I’m off to bed,” said Roger.

“Okay,” said Dom. “I’m off as well then. But think about it, Rog. Think about a way to shove it back in their faces, make them deal with it or fucking leave, no pretending it’s not there.”

“Alright, darling,” said Roger with a laugh, “go to sleep you sound exhausted.”

After saying their goodnights and hanging up, Roger hurried up to their bedroom and slid into bed with Brian. Brian usually wrote a couple words, a couple phrases in a journal he kept. Something to keep track of the days, keep track of the lyrics he was creating, the riffs he was perfecting. And seeing him, cross legged in bed trying to write in the dim glow of their bedside lamp made Roger all the more in love with him.

“Anything good?” asked Roger as he pressed his cheek against Brian’s thigh.

“Not really,” said Brian. “Couple ideas.”

Roger closed his eyes for a moment and listened to the soft scratch of Brian’s pen against the paper. He wondered if he could decipher what he was writing by the sound of the pen’s movements. Wondered if he could hear the music Brian was writing. He swore he almost could.

“Brian,” mumbled Roger, the comfort of the bed wicking away his energy. “I’m sick of it.”

“Sick of what?” said Brian, his pen scratches stopped.

Roger readjusted and force his head into Brian’s lap. “Sick of this being so serious. I’m sick of everything about us being turned into something so adult and dry, we’re still young. I want to have fun, I want to love you and have fun with it.”

“Hm,” said Brian, his head cocked. He ran his fingers through Roger’s hair. “How should we do that?”

“Dom just gave me this wonderful idea.”

~~~

“I’m a fag, not a cross dresser,” yelled Roger as Freddie scolded him for being unable to hook his own bra.

“You’ve undone enough in your life,” said Freddie in return.

“It’s very different,” whined Roger. He stared at himself in the mirror, his makeup on but his wig off and couldn’t help but grin. Couldn’t help but laugh when he looked up at Freddie, fake tits on, eyeliner out to his temples, also wigless. “You do look a sight with the moustache, Fred.”

“I think it’s very becoming,” said John, his wig was practically glued to his head as the rest of his makeup depended on its shape.

“Thank you, Gran,” said Freddie.

“I prefer the white,” said Brian as one of the artists painted his fingernails a coral pink.

“Go on stage with pink nails,” said John, “we’ll really weed ‘em out.”

“Maybe I should’ve got some tits for this,” said Roger as he eyes his silhouette next to Freddie’s.

“You’re not upstaging me here, Taylor,” said Freddie as he slipped his blouse on. “You may have the eyes for it but I’ve got the panache.”

“No argument there,” laughed Roger.

“You do look terribly convincing,” said John. “If I didn’t know better I’d be chatting you up.”

“There’s still time,” said Roger.

They got their skirts and gowns on, all laughing the more and more feminine they became. Roger fiddled with his wig in the same way Freddie did, as if they were really going out on the town like that. Brian’s hair was put up in curlers which took the hair stylist doing it more time than she bargained for. While they waited Freddie tested his walk in the stilettos, stumbling and falling his way across the dressing room until Roger finally squeezed him into a pair of kitten heels.

“Oh Freddie, you missed your calling at New York Fashion Week,” teased Brian as he fiddled with the curlers left in his hair.

“You’re laughing now but when I debut in Paris you’ll get none of my proceeds,” said Freddie. “Alright boys, I’m ready which means you must’ve all been ready ages ago,” and with that he strode out of the dressing room with his heels clicking the floor like he owned the place.

John rolled his eyes and followed suit, barely disguising his laughter as wandered out the door and heard the crew’s reactions. Roger kept combing his bangs, trying to get them to sit just so, almost ready but not quite. His eyes flicked to meet Brian’s through the mirror every so often, both grinning each time he did.

“What’re you so happy about, May?” said Roger before spraying his hair into place.

“I’m having fun,” said Brian. “Tell Dom this was an excellent idea.”

“No, I want the credit,” teased Roger.

Brian choked on a laugh and shuffled in his bunny slippers over to Roger’s mirror. “I love you, Rog.”

“I love you too.” Roger turned instinctively, looking up at Brian waiting for him to lean down and kiss him. And he would’ve had Roger not hastily muttered, “our lipgloss.”

“Oh,” said Brian, clearly having forgot he was even wearing it. Roger watched him break into a shy smile. It reminded him of the shyness he always had around him in their more nebulous times together. Those times where neither would say a word, neither wanted to break the magic. Though he much preferred having that magic out in the open rather than wishing for it a few years at a time, he couldn’t help feel a bit nostalgic watching Brian blush and avert his eyes like he used to when they were just students.

“You know what—fuck it,” said Roger. He stood up on his toes and pressed their lips together. A bit messier than usual, lipgloss smearing every which way but neither cared. Neither cared about the voices calling them on to set, for a moment they were in a world entirely their own.


End file.
